


Painting Flowers

by ItsYaBoiKeith (PetalsAndPurity)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Illness, I promise it's not all angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) has depression, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Ray of Sunshine, M/M, Major Illness, Pidge is a little shit, Tattoo Artist Keith (Voltron), Tattoo Artist Shiro (Voltron), it isn't my fic if James and Keith aren't bffs, lance works in an animal shelter, mentions of minor character death, no major character death though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetalsAndPurity/pseuds/ItsYaBoiKeith
Summary: Keith is a young and budding tattoo artist in the central town, hustling in a small corner tattoo parlour that is slowly building a reputation for itself.Yet things still seem to be heavy. He still views the world in greys, still lives in monotone.  Still wonders why he can’t be happy for once.That is, until a boy who has a love for flowers bursts through the parlour doors and just...well, ruins everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back at it again with another fic!
> 
> This fic will contain triggers throughout, though I will label each chapter with the triggers in it. Keith has suicidal thoughts that are implied throughout the fic - and are referenced in this chapter in the very first section of the chapter, and the very last, so please be careful. 
> 
> Trigger warnings will be added to chapters as the fic progresses. If you need a heads-up now on any that might come in to play, please feel free to send me a message/anon ask on my tumblr which I've added to the end notes <3
> 
> With all that aside, I really hope you enjoy!! I'm super excited for this, and have spent a lot of time on it.

**** Keith was late. Again.

The engine of his motorbike roared as he raced down the streets. He swerved and overtook cars, making dangerous turns because he’d taken too long convincing himself to get out of bed this morning. He shot over the bridge, a car horn sounding distantly in the back of his conscience as he swerved around them. 

A fleeting thought flicked over his mind, and he wondered _what if_ he had the guts to pull the handlebars. _What if_ he swung round and smacked right into the rails? _What if_ he threw himself right off the edge of the bridge, sending himself plummeting into the depths below?

He wouldn’t find the answer today, it seemed, because Keith had somehow made it to work in one piece without barely any memories of the journey.

-

It was always the same at work; the painted sign (an absolute pain in the ass that was painted by yours truly) promoting “Garrison Tattoo’s” hung high above the door. The windows showed a (thankfully) empty shop and a few posters promoting upcoming gigs and a couple of lost dogs. 

He parked next to the pristine, polished BMW that belonged to one of his coworkers out the back, as usual. Cardboard boxes from the bakery next door were blocking their back entrance, as usual. The scent of fresh bread and car exhaustions was nauseating, as usual. 

It was always the same inside, too. He went through the front, being greeted by the soft sound of alternative music and the distant lingering smell of disinfectant drifting in the air. The low hum of the desk fan battled valiantly against the stifling summer heat. Posters and sketches line the dark maroons of the walls, apart from the back wall, which was left to be brick because of the ‘aesthetic’, a co-worker had once told him. 

At the sound of the bell tolling upon his entrance, one of his work companions, James Griffin (the owner of the BMW), gave Keith a small wave from behind the mahogany counter, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“Aren’t you supposed to be checking our emails?” Keith asked, leaning over the counter to clock in, watching Griffin effortlessly shade an intricate drawing of some form of cat-zombie hybrid, chewing on his pierced lip in concentration. 

“It’s already done,” Griffin mumbled as Keith watched him draw, marvelling at the gruesome details James had clearly spent a lot of time working over. It was a good piece, not necessarily something Keith would want on his body, though.

“Who asked for that?”

“That creepy guy that comes in here from time to time - the one with the bleached hair?” Griffin finally looked up. “Nadia was a bitch and rushed off to sweep the floor so I had to serve him.”

Keith may have teased Griffin, and Griffin may have punched his arm in return, but Keith was exhausted, having hardly slept last night.

So, instead, Keith merely hummed and turned on his heel, entering the staff room to put his bag away, before sauntering back into the shop floor. Ryan was there too, as he always was when James was on shift. He was piercing a young girl’s ears in the corner, giving Keith a quick wave. Keith returned it with a small smile. The mother, sitting by the girls side, flickered her gaze toward Keith for a second, before looking wearily back to the various drawings on the walls.

He passed them and approached the counter, where Griffin was back to his sketching, his polished leather boots that were probably more expensive than his weekly pay check swinging back and forth lazily. 

Reaching around Griffin again, he plucked out their booking folder from behind the counter and flicked through to the schedule today. 

“Oh, Pidge is coming today,” Keith mumbled, more to himself than Griffin, who rolled his eyes and grumbled ‘alright for some, I guess’, violently rubbing out the pencil lines in his drawing. 

“Think of me when you’re tattooing your best friend while I’ve gotta try not to punch this guy in the face!” James wailed dramatically, wiping fake tears from his eyes while Keith rummaged through his folder to find her design.

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll be best friends by the end of it.” Keith ruffled James’s hair. James slapped him away.

“I’ll give you $20 if you do his tattoo for me.”

Keith hesitated. “Make it $25 and close up for me on Saturday.”

They quickly shook hands. James rummaged in his pockets, before handing Keith the money. 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” James smiled smugly, and Keith began to wonder if the extra money and early night was truly worth it.

-

_ Crash!_

The door slammed open, quickly followed by the sound of James’s shriek and Keith’s sketchbook dropping to the ground. Laughing at the chaos she had created, the one and only _Katie Holt_ waltzed into the store, head held high with a swagger in her step as though she owned the fucking place. Her green bomber jacket swayed behind her, hung over her shoulders like a cape. 

What was always a solo, dramatic entrance to the store had become an unexpected duet; a tall, almost lanky boy followed inside. Keith had never seen the boy before, especially not in this shop. His pale, blue denim jacket clashed with Pidge’s lime green bomber.

Keith was surprised to even see Pidge. Sure, her appointment was meant to start five minutes ago, but she was _always_ at least twenty minutes late to her appointments. Keith wasn’t even _ready_ for her yet.

“James, my man, my dude,” Pidge began her spiel to James who still hadn’t moved from his station behind the counter. “Where is my favourite, most treasured friend in the universe?” She broadcast her lines out loud as though she was standing on a broadway stage, not in the middle of a crummy tattoo studio. 

James didn’t look up from his phone, simply pointing in the vague direction of Keith’s station.

Pidge’s eyes followed to where he was pointing and waved at Keith, skipping over, pulling him into a hug. Keith froze, looking down at the small girl, nose tickled by her unruly brown locks of hair.

“You know I really, really, _really_ love you?” She mumbled, her voice muffled into the fabric of his jumper.

“Yep,” Keith said in monotone.

“And you know you’re an amazing artist, such a good, caring, friendly guy…”

“Get to the point.”

“Could you, _pretty please_, maybe, uh, tattoo my friend? Like, right now?”

His gaze locked onto the boy standing in front of him, giving Pidge a glare that very much said _this is not what we agreed._ Keith knew that look very well.

“Without an appointment?” Keith asked dryly.

“Yup!” Pidge bounced on her feet. Keith craned his neck up to avoid being head butted.

“Today?”

“I just _said_ that?”

“I can’t,” he pulled away from her. “I’m all booked up today. I barely have time to do _your_ tattoo, Pidge, so could you just _sit down_ and let me get it done-“

“You can do mine a different day! Please, Keith,” she pleaded, giving him puppy dog eyes. 

James sniggered from the front of the store. Keith glared at him. “Why doesn’t he ask James? Then you can _both_ get your tattoos done.”

“No, he has to get you to do it!” Keith’s eyebrows raised. Pidge snatched away his sketchbook, shoving it into the poor boy’s face. “He wants a watercolour piece. Look, Lance, I _told_ you he’s the best, so much better than going to Marmora ink, _ew_,” she shuddered. “You need something special, something amazing-“

“Something James can do as well?”

“I’m not doing watercolours,” James muttered, slowly getting to his feet, stretching with a yawn. “I’m taking my break.”

Keith gave him an acidic glare. “Motherfucker.”

James lifted his middle finger again, slamming the staff room door shut. Keith sighed, running a hand through his hair. “_Fine_. But I can only do the outline today. You’ll have to come back for me to colour it. And _you_,” he muttered, pointing to Pidge. “Owe me lunch for overloading my schedule, because I’m probably gonna have to skip out on it now.”

“Thank you!” Pidge jumped up and down. Lance also seemed to brighten up a little, smiling as excitement flickered over his tired eyes.

“So,” Keith ignored Pidge’s jumping around, eyes settling on Lance. “What do you want?”

Lance shuffles in his pockets for his phone, mumbling: “I was wondering if you could do something with this.” 

He presents Keith a photo on his phone. Keith prepared to hold back a groan, expecting some googled image of a random tattoo so many artists had copied before, but instead was met with a picture from a camera roll of some basic sunflowers. “I’d like one of those, but in blue.”

Keith tugged his sketchbook away from Pidge’s curious hand and began to start drawing, eyes flickering from the photo to his pad. He hummed. “Where do you want it?”

“My wrist - is that okay?” He asked, almost timidly, still awkwardly holding up the phone.

Keith shrugged. “It’s your choice, but if you mean you want my opinion, I think it’s a pretty good place.” Lance nodded, biting his lip. “Y’know,” Keith continued, “Pidge should have told you that you usually need to book a consultation with us before you get your tattoo done.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Lance mumbled a sheepish smile on his face. 

“It’s okay. She didn’t tell you, and she forced me into this, so it’s her fault.” He dodged the hand batting at his face. “Is this your first tattoo?”

Lance nodded with a small hum.

“Keith doesn’t usually deal with the _tattoo virgins_,” Pidge stage-whispered with a snigger. “He’s too scary.”

Keith gave Pidge a glare. “What colours do you want? And how do you want it?” Keith asked, rambling on about the colours he thought it would look best with, chewing on the end of his pencil in thought.

Lance looked to Keith’s design, a small smile stretching across his lips. “I think the paler petals will look cooler.”

Keith nodded, “you want anything round the edges?”

“No. Thank you,” Lance mumbled, still looking at the drawing. “It’s amazing - thank you.”

Keith frowned a little. “Are you sure you’re entirely happy with it? I won’t be offended if you don’t like it - I’d rather scrap it and start it again than have you regret getting it.”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I’ll go get James to take you through the paperwork, then.” With that, he went to the staffroom, spotting James chewing at a protein bar and typing frantically on his phone.

“Can you take a customer through paperwork.”

“No. Ask Ryan.”

“Ryan’s still dealing with a customer.”

James let drew out a groan, shoving the rest of the bar into his mouth and getting to his feet. He nudged Keith gently as he walked past. “The guy’s pretty cute, huh?”

“He’s a customer.” _Fuck_ the fact that they’ve known each other long enough that James _knows_ Keith’s type.

“Oh wow, and here I was thinking he was a goddamn giraffe. Thanks for clearing that one up, man.” James held the door open for Keith, following quickly behind. 

“Lance, was it?” He called. “Come with me to the desk and I’ll show you the paperwork.” Pidge let out a long groan, very much like the one James had made not five minutes ago. 

Keith stepped back to his section of the studio to begin prepping for Lance’s tattoo.

-

Keith wrapped Lance’s wrist up in clingfilm after taking a couple of photos of his work. “There. Here’s a little on aftercare.” Keith handed him a brochure, Pidge mouthing the words along to his spiel. “If you have any questions or concerns, just message me on here.” He handed him the business card next. “And I’ll need to book with you when you can get it coloured.” The sound of the bell chiming as the door opened caused him to lift his head. His next customer was talking to James at the desk, gory tattoos lined up and down his arms. Keith huffed, not noticing how Lance practically curled in on himself. 

Keith continued rambling on about days he can and can’t do, and eventually Lance snapped out of his daze for long enough to settle with a time, his eyes constantly darting between Keith and the man leaning against the counter. The man stared back at them both. 

“I’ll slot you in. It shouldn’t take long; roughly an hour,” Keith smiled. “I’ll see you around. Just drop me a message if your plans change and you can’t come.”

“I will do.” Lance gave a nod and a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. You did well - for your first tattoo, anyway.”

“_KEITH!_” James yelled, frantically gesturing to the man scowling at the counter.

Keith sighed. “The next appointment’s here so James’ll finish up the payment with you. Find sometime to rebook yours too, Pidge.”

“Yes boss,” Pidge saluted, before dragging Lance to the counter, just as Keith’s next customer sauntered over.

-

Shiro chuckled, watching Keith throw his arms around as he whined about the customer he’d had earlier, moving so much that he almost knocked over the carton of fries set in front of him. “He fucking tried to get me to give him a refund because I’d used ‘pumpkin’ orange instead of ‘tangerine’, like what the _fuck_? Orange is fucking _orange_, right?!”

“Right,” Shiro repeated, nodding slowly with a small smile. He took a sip of his soda as he watched Keith struggle to balance his sketchbook on his lap whilst trying to eat his food at the same time.

“And then, and _then_ he has a go at _Ryan_ because he was being too loud sweeping, the cu-“

“Keith,” Shiro cut in, eyes wearily flickering to the disapproving father sitting nearby, his four kids throwing wrappers and fragments of plastic toys _everywhere._ “Breathe. It’s okay. You don’t have to serve him again. It’s done. Finished.”

Keith ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath. “Sorry. He just caught me on a bad day, I guess.”

“I’m sure he did, Adam said he heard you shuffling around at four this morning.” Shiro leant over the table a little, lowering his voice. “If your nightmares are starting up again, we can always book an earlier appointment with Colleen-“

“No. I’m okay.I just couldn’t get to sleep, is all.”

Shiro gave him a look as though to say he didn’t believe him for a second, but didn’t voice it. Keith chewed on his food, staring distantly out the window. Raindrops dribbled down the glass, scattering and running faster with each car that drove past and sprayed the window. 

Shiro had found out that Keith had been skipping lunch again to work, and so, on their way to pick up Adam from the hospital, Shiro had decided to stop off at the nearest McDonalds for an emergency food-fix. 

There was a comfortable silence between them for a while, Keith’s gaze locked outside while Shiro text Adam a quick message to tell him to wait in the reception instead of in the pick-up area like usual, so he didn’t get soaked. 

“You had Pidge today, didn’t you?” Shiro asked once finishing the message off with a heart, putting his phone back on the table. “How did it go? Matt can’t wait to see it.”

“She brought in a friend and asked me to do them a tattoo instead,” Keith muttered, placing his pencil down to reach for another fry. “he wanted a small watercolour sunflower on his wrist in blue.” At that, he pushed the sketchbook across the table to show Shiro the sketch.

“It’s pretty good - did you really finish that quickly? Pidge only booked in a couple of hours.”

“No, I’ve only done the line art. He’s coming back on Thursday for the rest.”

Shiro hummed with a nod. “So, what’s his name?”

“Lance,” Keith mumbled, pushing his half eaten food away from him. Shiro didn’t have the strength to argue and merely stood from his seat.

“Lets go - Adam’s probably waiting for us.”

-

Keith took a deep sip of the coffee Shiro had brought him on his way to work, doodling in his sketchbook. It was a Thursday morning, a shift Keith always looked forward to. Not only did he and Shiro work together that day, but the shop was always pretty steady with it’s customers and appointments, ensuring the two didn’t get too bored, nor too overwhelmed with the amount (or lack of) customers that walked through the door. He savoured his moment to sketch freely, listening to the low, soothing hum of Shiro’s voice as he tried to calm down a man enough to pierce his tongue.

He’d heard that tone many, many times before, so much so it had _him_ leaning back in his chair a little. 

The shrill of the bell cut through Keith’s daze. He looked up to see Lance, this time without Pidge. He was wearing his denim Jacket again and his ripped jeans were speckled with white strands of fur. His hair was curled and tufted around his blue eyes which were framed with a dusting of freckles. 

As he approached the counter, he flashed Keith a dimpled smile and a short wave. Distantly in the shop, Shiro stopped talking to his customer to watch and give Keith a knowing smile.

Keith ignored him in favour for looking at the tiny collection of badges on Lance’s jacket, from small sharks and lions to a couple of roses.

“Hi, Keith!” He waved again. “Did ya miss me?” He leant his elbow against the bar, a complete paradox to the shy, timid boy Keith had tattooed only a few days ago.

Keith stared at Lance blankly. “Who are you again?”

Lance stumbled back with a hand on his chest as though he’d been shot. “Man, and here I was thinking I was going to _tip_ you for your work!”

Keith simply huffed. “Lets get this over with.” He mocked a bored sigh, snapping up his sketch book and heading over to his station. “No Pidge today?”

“She has class. She said she’d visit later if she gets to leave for her lunch break early.”

“Hear that, Keith?” Shiro called from where he was now at the till. “Maybe you should follow Pidge’s example and actually take your breaks I give you!”

“Shut up, Shiro! No one asked you!” Keith retorted. Shiro let out a gasp. 

"Someone needs to learn to give their manager some _respect,_" Shiro muttered, pointedly ignoring the middle finger thrown in his direction.

Lance chuckled, slipping off his jacket which revealed a black t-shirt with a single, embroidered rose on the breast. It was cute. Fitted, too, showing Lance’s slim figure. 

Keith took a look at the tattoo. It seemed to have healed nicely. He smiled a little. “How’s it been? Noticed any shaky lines or anything? I can fix anything if you have any issues, it’s no problem.”

“No, I love it so far. Just needs some colour. Thank you.”

Keith smiled a little, waving a hand to say it was no problem. He prepped the area before picking up the tattoo gun, his brow creasing as he started to work on colouring the area with the various blues and purples that they’d spent the better part of the last session deciding (with unhelpful, outrageous suggestions from Pidge - if she had her way, Lance would have a glow in the dark tattoo of a dick).

Last time, Pidge and Lance had muttered between themselves whilst Keith worked. Pidge knew that Keith preferred to work quietly so that he could put all of his attention on the tattoo. Lance, however, had other ideas.

“So, have you worked here for long?” Lance started off, a question many customers asked when trying to spark up a conversation. 

“I started four years ago.”

“Four years?! How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-one. I started here just before I turned eighteen - I swept the floor and cleaned while I was training,” Keith explained, as he did to many people who had asked Lance’s question.

“How’d you get the job?” Lance asked, wincing a little.

Keith gave Lance a small break, leaning back in the chair. “Shiro helped me get the job. We, uh, knew each other.”

“Did you always wanna be a tattoo artist?”

Keith was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. He couldn’t exactly say he didn’t even see himself to be alive by now, let alone with a house and friends and a _job_. Instead, he simply hummed with a nod. Lance frowned a little, but thankfully he didn’t pry any further.

Instead, he stretched a little before Keith continued, letting out a sigh. “Man, it must be great to be able to draw. Like, to put out your thoughts and feelings into a simple picture.”

“Anyone can do that,” Keith shrugged. “Just the people who are deemed ‘good’ at art are the ones that society defines as aesthetically pleasing, or whatever.”

Lance looked to him, smiling a little. “I like that.”

“Huh, I thought it was bullshit when Shiro told me.”

“Hey!” Came a yell from somewhere in the shop. Keith stopped to lift his middle finger, hoping it was remotely in the direction Shiro was standing.

Lance laughed again. “I prefer to write. I find it easier to put down words instead of draw out my feelings.”

“Y’see I’ve always admired how writers can create worlds that people can so easily escape into,” Keith shrugged, biting his lip in concentration. 

Lance continued to babble on about writing and other random topics for the rest of the session, Keith only humming or offering a short response in reply, his brow creased in concentration. The blue from the inks Keith had chosen complimented Lance’s olive skin tone well, and when he’d finally finished an hour and a half later, he sat back and smiled at his work. 

“What do you think?” He asked after nodding along to Lance’s story about how he used to go with his family down to the beach, and how one time his twin sister cried because a seagull had stolen her ice cream, or something.

Lance looked to the flower on his wrist, marvelling at the strong colours and how delicate, yet bold the design looked. He smiled, looking up to Keith.

“It’s perfect. Thank you so much!”

Keith shrugged it off. “Do you mind if I take a photo for my page?” He asked. Lance shook his head, so Keith quickly pulled out his phone, taking a couple of photos. He then started finishing up, wrapping up Lance’s tattoo gently, before taking him to the counter. Unfortunately Shiro refused to do the paperwork for him, and simply leant back against his chair, folding his arms and watching Keith fumble through the draws for the right sheet.

Lance paid Keith the rest of the money, giving him a small tip which made Keith smile, before finishing off the paperwork. Keith reminded him about aftercare, and was about to wave him off (rather reluctantly, he might add) when Lance hesitated.

“Hey, do you have a business card or something? In case I want to get another some time?” Lance asked, coming across shy all of a sudden. Keith reached over Shiro to grab the red business card from the different piles of various coloured cards lining the corner of the table, handing it over to Lance.

“Here. I don’t usually respond to emails, or phone calls, so text me instead.” Keith caught the glare Shiro sent him and quickly added: “but of course you can contact me the other ways if you have to - I’ll just be more likely to respond to texts, I guess.”

Shiro let out a huff, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s cool,” Lance waved a hand. “Who even uses emails these days?” He smiled with a wink, his dimpled cheeks causing Keith’s lips to twitch. “Anyway, I’d better get going. Thank you so much, Keith!”

“Anytime,” Keith awkwardly waved Lance off, the jingle of the bell signalling his departure.

As soon as Lance disappeared from the shop windows view, Shiro sniggered.

“Wow, I’ve never seen you be so _nice_ to someone before.” He nudged Keith with his foot. “You _like_ him.”

“Shiro, we’ve spent at most three hours together, how would I even-“

“Keith, there’s a thing called physical attraction,” Shiro interrupted with a chuckle. He leant close to whisper: “and love at first sight.”

“I hate you,” Keith muttered.

“I love you too,” Shiro sang, just as the door to the shop crashed open. James walked inside, huffing.

“Ugh, someone please turn the sun down.” He grimaced, removing his designer sunglasses from his face, wincing. 

“I have no sympathy for someone who gets pissed on a work-night,” Shiro retorted, though already he was getting out of his seat and collecting his wallet. “I’m gonna go on a break, I’ll grab you a coffee and something to eat.”

“Marry me, Shiro.”

“Sure, but you’ll have to ask my fiancé about that first.”

-

The end of Keith’s shift was a blessing. The shop had been _dead_ the past hour or so, and James and Keith had spent the entirety of that time arguing about whether getting a lion tattoo was predictable. Keith was on the defending side, of course, because he had his own red lion tattoo on his ankle, which had been designed and done by Shiro. Shiro had a matching black one on his chest, which Keith had designed and done himself, too. 

In the end, both had decided to agree to disagree, because they were both tired of arguing and Keith wanted to get home.

He pulled on his helmet, grumbling to himself about the pouring rain hammering down onto the lifeless streets. He clambered onto his bike, the low hum of the engine making him smile as he revved it (just to annoy James), before riding off down the streets.

Before he actually went home to his and Shiro’s flat they shared, he found himself stopping off at the city bridge. Being late, it was quiet, so Keith was able to park up his bike on the walkway, taking a step over to the handrail. He leant over the edge, looking down at the murky water from the river below. 

On the horizon, the sun set, bathing everything in a deep red. The water was no different, reflecting the colour of the sky and looking like a pool of blood.

He remembered being in this exact position five years ago, foot hooked over the fence, ready to jump.

He wondered how it would feel - the brief shot of wind, the crash of cold water and the feeling of his head bashing against the sharp rocks. The sweet, _sweet_ bliss of nothingness following soon after.

It was a shame that Shiro had been there. Had been there to be traumatised by his ex-foster brother trying to end his life. It was a shame that he had been there to force Keith to keep living for another five years.

He felt temped - _so_ tempted, though he knew that now he had no excuse to end it. He had _everything_ \- a home, friends, a job. He should be happy.

Still, he wanted to jump.

He placed one foot over the fence.

His phone buzzed. Keith considered ignoring it, but he looked, because he can feel his chest pounding and he’s no longer sure if it’s excitement or fear.

It’s Lance.

_Hey! It’s Lance - the guy you did a wrist tattoo for! I just wanted to say thank you - I love it! It means a lot to me, I really appreciate all the effort you put into it. _

Then quickly, soon after, another message followed up.

_Maybe we could meet up sometime???_

Keith found his lips twitching up a little. Wind attacked his face and his cheeks stung. He looked back to the water churning below. 

Keith stepped away from the bridge and head back to his bike, thumbs punching out a reply.

_Sure. I’d like that. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was pretty anticlimactic, the droplets didn’t nearly rise enough, and Keith’s shoes weren’t waterproof so now his toes were wet. But, when Lance laughed such a beautiful symphony, Keith kicked again and again just to keep hearing such a wonderful sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if there are a lot of mistakes in this chapter, I've been super ill this week! I'll give it another read through when I (finally) feel better. :)

“Keith, if you don’t come out in five seconds, I’m coming in whether you’re decent or not and carrying you to work by my damn self!” Came a yell through the door and a quick, loud knock. Keith sighed, burying himself deeper into the covers, hoping he’d somehow disappear into the comforter, never to be seen again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy work - he loved his job and was thankful that he even had one to provide enough money for food, warm clothes and a roof over his head. It was more that he was just _not_ in the mood to face the world today, because let’s face it, the world is terrifying. So terrifying, that Keith never wanted to leave the confines of his covers. At least here he could be safe and warm and maybe skip the day by sleeping through it - he already knew it was going to be awful.

Shiro didn’t agree, apparently, because soon the door was swinging open and he was marching inside like an ex-army cadet.

(Which, for the record, he was.)

Keith braced himself, fingers clutched onto the corner of the blanket. His eyes squinted shut in preparation for the usual assault of the curtains being snapped open and the covers being pulled away from him.

Instead, the weight dipped on the mattress, and careful hands gently pried the covers away from Keith’s face.

“Come on. Adam’s made your favourite. Or he did, a couple of hours ago.”

“I’d rather just sleep until I absolutely have to get to work,” Keith muttered.

“You can’t skip meals, Keith. It’s 12pm.”

“Watch me.”

There was a short huff. “Either you eat now or you’re not going to work.”

Any other day, that would have been a threat and enough to get Keith up and grumbling.

“Perfect.” Not today, it seemed.

There was a space of silence. “I’ll see if James can cover you.”

Keith didn’t reply, feigning sleep. The weight on the bed left.

Shiro left Keith alone. He moped around before finally falling back to sleep. Shiro burst into the room not an hour later with said plate of pancakes, and his pills, claiming that if he didn’t come back to the pancakes and pills _gone_, he was going to ‘kick his ass’.

-

The hammering of the rain on the shop roof made Keith groan and throw his head into his arms from his place on the counter. James tapped him on the head with the end of the broom he was sweeping with, even though Ina had given the shop a thorough sweep this morning.

Iverson, the owner of Garrison Tattoos, was strict and downright terrifying to most of the workers. Though he hardly spent any time at the studio, he made his presence fully known by installing security cameras in every corner of the shop. Keith knew his reasoning wasn't for the case of thefts, or difficult drunk customers, like he'd said. It was more because he could catch people (mostly James and Keith) slacking. 

Which lead to James sweeping the floor four times over and flicking through their bookings folder for the twelfth time that day. It was a stormy Tuesday afternoon, of _course_ no one would want to get a tattoo if they hadn't already scheduled it.

"Hey," James muttered, tapping Keith with the broom again. Keith finally lifted his head. "If you let me take a quick smoke you can leave early; Shiro won't mind and Ryan's coming soon anyway. I doubt we're gonna be overrun by customers before then." James gestured to the empty shop.

"You should go home - you did cover me yesterday _and_ you have a hangover," Keith mumbled, running a hand through his hair. James had drunk called him last night, thinking he was Ryan. He'd crooned over how much he loved and needed him - and was promptly followed by Ryan yelling over the blaring music in the background 'I'm right _here_!'

"Nah, it's okay. I need the money. I blew it all last night and I've still got rent to pay," James chuckled nervously, grabbing his jacket that was slung over the back of Keith's chair and slipping it on. "You can go, it's _fine_. Get an early night - you look like you need it." 

"What's this? James Griffin, actually _caring_ about me?" Keith gasped. James swatted him on the back of the head.

"Ew, _no_, I just want you to leave as soon as possible." 

-

Keith ended up spending the last fifteen minutes of his shift throwing business cards at James when he came back from his break, getting completely distracted from the fact that he could finish. In return, James emptied the contents of the dustpan he was using over Keith's head. At that moment, Ryan had walked through the door, and simply shook his head at them both with a sigh. Keith took it upon himself to leave James to the mess, immediately clocking out and taking his leave.

He hadn't taken his bike today. Colleen had told him taking regular walks would help him clear his head (a bullshit piece of advice), and Shiro had thought it was a great idea. Keith was _never_ going to let him hear the end of it now that he was walking home in the middle of a rainstorm. 

Sure, he could have waited at the shop until James finished in an hour and hitched a ride home with him, but first, James would _never_ let him to live down asking for two favours in less than 24 hours and second, he would never be caught _dead_ in that eye-sore of a BMW with it's convertable roof and polished silver body. He'd be signing himself up for non-stop talking about the modifications James had put on it, or how good the air-heaters were, or the fancy radio system, or whatever.

Nope, walking in the rain was a better option. Maybe it'll give Keith enough incentive to actually shower when he gets home, instead of trying to convince himself he'll have enough energy later, and eventually just opting for dry shampoo. 

He decided to take a shortcut through a dodgy alleyway Shiro had definitely told him on _many_ occasions to avoid. It seemed completely empty, though, so deemed it safe to walk through. 

It gave him a little shelter from the rain, too.

The distant trickle of rainwater dripping down the gutters entered the silence, his shoes splashing through the occasional puddle.

There was the distant sound of a squeaky whine, so quiet Keith almost missed it over the sound of rain. He paused, listening closely to hear it again. Looking around, he spotted a small, black, matted lump of fur cowering against a drainpipe. Keith rushed over, kneeling down to see a small puppy, engulfed by a huge chain collar that was connected to the drainpipe.

From how skinny it looked, and the way it was trembling and shivering, Keith could judge that it had been there a while. He quickly unlatched the lead, grabbing the puppy before it could move and wrapping it up under his coat. Its head poked through his collar. It began to scrabble and scratch at Keith, whimpering and yipping to try and escape. Keith kept a hold, regardless, shushing and clicking his tongue in an attempt to be comforting as he rushed out of the alleyway. 

Not far from their tattoo studio was an animal shelter that had it’s own surgery for the animals it brings in. He was sure someone there could help him - they did do mostly charity work, after all, helping abandoned pets and strays in the area.

He ran, feeling the puppy continue to shiver and tremble in his grip, it’s whines and whimpers alarmingly weak.

-

_ Altea Animal Shelter_ came up on the side of the road, most of its lights turned off apart from one amber light seeping through the window. Keith ran across the road, a car honking at him as it struggled to slow down. He managed to get across before he was hit, bursting through the doors all too quickly.

There was a colossal sound of clattering which caused the puppy to cower into Keith, continuing to whine.

“Shit! No, Blue!” A cat darted up onto the counter, hissing. Its fur stood on end and back arched, baring its teeth at Keith. Keith pulled down his hood as a man rushed in and quickly lifted the cat back up over his shoulder, sighing.

“This is an _animal_ shelter, you need to be calm in here, Sir, or you’re gonna have to-“ he cut himself off. “Keith?!”

Keith blinked, seeing Lance before him. He has vet-style slacks on and a pair of thick, black framed glasses perched on his freckled nose. His tattoo Keith had finished only a few days ago is still puffed up and swollen, still in the healing process, but looking well looked after. Cling film has been wrapped over it to protect it.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Lance stepped forward, waving his hand in Keith’s face. Keith simply stared dumbly back, because _fuck_ do those glasses make him look _adorable._

The bundle kept hidden in his coat yipped and squirmed. Keith winced when the puppy decided to lift his head up through the collar and nibble on Keith’s jaw.

Lance’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He quickly set Blue onto the ground and took a step forward. “Can I?” He asked, holding out his arms. Keith pulled the puppy out of his coat and handed it to Lance. Lance turned swiftly on his heel and clicked his tongue. The cat rubbed a cheek against Lance’s calf and followed him through a door labelled ‘clinic’.

He gestured for Keith to follow him, so he did, quickly.

The smell of antiseptic hit Keith viciously. Lance quickly bundled the puppy up in blankets and began to dry its matted fur, crooning under his breath as he pulled a phone from his pocket. 

“Such a good boy - Keith, can you hold him? - aw, you’re doing so well, puppy. Don’t worry, we’ll get you warmed up in no time!”

Keith held onto the puppy as Lance frantically talked into his phone. “Uh, Allura? I kinda need you down here - I _know_ I should have closed up and left an hour ago - I was just playing with Blue and got distracted. Ugh, just get down here already!”

He hung up, placing the phone back into his pocket, beginning to dry the puppies fur with the blanket. “Where did you find him?”

“Down an alley not far from the studio - he was chained to a drainpipe,” Keith explained.

Lance looked furious - if such soft features could even _express_ such an emotion. He grit his teeth and seemed to hold the puppy a bit closer, as though trying to protect him from the horror he’d just faced. 

“Thank you for taking him here,” Lance mumbled, looking up to Keith with a small smile. Keith smiled softly back, just as the door crashed open.

“This better not be just because you let Blue out and she’s gotten lost again,” a dark skinned woman with a mane of unruly, bleached hair muttered. She strolled inside with simple joggers and a cropped t-shirt, though the way she walked could have fooled Keith into thinking she was wearing the finest of business suits and high heels. She paused when she saw the puppy on the table and gasped, quickly rushing over. “Oh my goodness, what happened?” She immediately began running her hands gently through the puppies fur, checking for any injuries.

Lance explained what Keith had told him. Allura looked ready to kill. 

“We’ll need to wash the dirt off him first so we can assess any injuries,” she muttered. Lance immediately rushed off to get everything she needed. After that, he heeded her every command, holding the puppy down when needed, fetching bandages, writing down notes for medication… Until finally, Allura carried the puppy off to the pens, where she carefully placed him in a basket surrounded by bundles of hand-knitted blankets.

Lance stayed with Keith, giving him a fond smile. “Thank you for bringing him to us.”

“Why wouldn’t I? What heartless person wouldn’t take an abandoned dog to get help?”

“I mean here. To Altea,” Lance mumbled. “A lot of shelters around here are kill shelters. We try and save as many of them as we can, but we only have so much space. A lot of people don’t realise we’re the only non-kill shelter here. I’m just glad he’s here, so he has a chance.” Lance smiled a little.

“Oh, well,” Keith scratched the back of his neck, feeling his phone begin to ring. Crap, Shiro was probably worrying about what was taking him so long to get home. “I should probably get going. Uh…thanks.” He gave Lance a nod. Lance hopped over the corner of the surgery to grab a jacket.

“I’ll come with you! I’m finishing now, anyway!”

Allura tutted, folding her arms. “Lance, you can stay with us. It’s raining.”

Lance stopped, and surprisingly Keith saw a hint of annoyance flash across his face - even anger. “It’s just rain, Allura. It’s not going to kill me.”

“Your father is going to kill you instead,” she muttered. “Lance, you know it’s not an-“

“I’m going home, Allura!” He snapped.

He turned to Keith with a small smile that didn’t quite sit right. “Where do you live?”

“By the train station,” Keith said, wearily glancing to Allura, who’s face wore an expression as frosted as her eyes.

“Oh, mine’s just before there - I’ll walk with you!” He linked arms with Keith and pulled him out the surgery and out the shelter. Keith noticed Lance hardly looked at Allura as he left.

Keith’s phone rang again. He sighed, quickly declining Shiro’s call and texting him to say he’d be home soon.

As he did so, Lance swung their arms back and forth, humming under his breath. “The world is so beautiful in the rain. Especially at night.”

“It really isn’t,” said Keith, “it’s cold, and dark, and slippery.” It reminded him of nights where he couldn’t find space in any shelters. Nights where he’d have to huddle and shiver in doorways, unsure whether he was going to survive the night.

“No, no!” Lance almost sang, kicking at a puddle. Droplets rained down in front of them, sparkling in the pale lamp glow like silver confetti leading their way. “That’s the best part! The darkness allows the rain to shine - like stars!” He looked up to the sky, barren of light except the miserable excuse from the small slither of the moon, a wistful smile on his face. “It reminds me of when I used to live by the coast - there were always so many stars in the sky.”

Keith blinked, not seeing an awful lot but the sorry glow of a flickering streetlamp that created haunting shadows climbing up the walls of chained up and grubby shop fronts. It wasn’t until Lance kicked up another spray of rainwater did he see the sparkles and their similarity to what he was sure stars were like.

“My mama always told me if you can’t find happiness, to make your own. I like to think that applies to everything.” Keith grimaced a little. “I can’t find any stars tonight, so I’m gonna make some myself!” He kicked up another spurt and laughed. Keith found his lips twitching up a little.

Lance turned to him, blue eyes phosphorescent, a wide smile on his face. “You do it!”

Keith froze. “Uh, it’s okay, I uh-“ Lance gave him the look of a kicked puppy. Keith sighed and kicked, watching the sparks of light rain in front of them.

It was pretty anticlimactic, the droplets didn’t nearly rise enough, and Keith’s shoes weren’t waterproof so now his toes were wet. But, when Lance laughed such a beautiful symphony, Keith kicked again and again just to keep hearing such a wonderful sound.

-

When Keith had finally shuffled through the door, Lance’s joyful cry of goodbye still echoing in his ears, he found Shiro bursting his way into the hall. Before Keith could even utter a warning that he was completely and utterly _soaked_, he was scooped up into a hug so tight he could feel his weary, shivering bones creak under the strain. Soon after the brief surprise and pain came warmth, however, and Keith found himself melting in Shiro’s grip.

Shiro gave him a brief, tight squeeze, as though checking that Keith was really there, before pulling him at arms length, hands still clenched tightly over his shoulders to stop him from running away.

“Are you okay? Where were you?” He asked, his eyes flickering over Keith, checking he wasn’t harmed in anyway. Keith vaguely wondered if he’d lift up his sleeves, too, but thankfully no such thing happened. 

“I’m okay,” he reassured, gripping onto Shiro’s forearms just as tightly, guilt stabbing him at the sight of Shiro’s worried expression. “I was just walking home from work and found an abandoned puppy - I took it down to the shelter.”

Shiro blinked, not expecting that excuse. “Oh. Are they okay?”

Keith nodded. “You know Lance, who I did the watercolour flower for?” He asked as Shiro began to guide him further into the flat, into the warmth.

“Of course,” Shiro slurred with a smile. Keith rolled his eyes. 

“He works there. I gave it to him, then walked home with him.”

“He works at a shelter?” Shiro raised his eyebrows. “If it’s Altea, he should know Allura.”

Allura was one of Shiro’s best friends all through high school and college. They still met up on occasion for coffee. Keith vaguely knew who she was, but had only briefly seen her when he used to live with Shiro during his early high school years. If that timid, young girl that used to always bring a bunch of flowers to Shiro’s house when she stayed round to say thank you for having her, was the furious force in the animal shelter, it was no wonder Keith didn’t recognise her. 

“It was.” Keith smiled. Shiro didn’t smile back, or claim how it’s a ‘small world’ as he so nearly does every time something like this happened. Instead, he frowned. 

After a moment, all expression cleared from his face, and he forced a smile. “You should go get dry and get changed before you catch a cold. Go!”

He swatted Keith away. Keith chuckled, and just before he passed to his room, he turned, hesitating. “Shiro?”

Shiro turned from where he was hanging Keith’s jacket over the radiator, humming.

“I’m sorry. For worrying you.”

Shiro merely sent back a weary smile, which Keith tried to return.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James interrupted the conversation, dragging Lance over to Keith. “I present to you, the newly improved Lance McClain!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a halloween-themed chapter in the slightest but I hope you all have a good one. I'm so sad I didn't get enough time to write a horror story like I did last year but this will have to do!! Enjoy!

Routine. Keith was safe in a routine. Of welcoming, consulting, drawing, tattooing. 

Welcoming, consulting-

_The soft splash of puddles and tinkling laughter-_

Welcoming, consulting, drawing-

_ Phosphorescent eyes, pearly white teeth, streetlights glinting on glass like stars-_

Welcoming…

“…Lance?”

Lance wasn’t his next customer. Keith checked again - it was meant to be Sendak, the guy Shiro refused to tattoo after the man had said some harsh things about his drawing style. Keith didn’t particularly like him either, and if the two had their way they’d have banned him from the place, but Iverson clearly cared more about his pocket than the safety of his coworkers.

“Hey!” Lance smiled sheepishly. He had a new piercing, a small septum ring with pale blue gemstones alternating with silver. It glinted in the sunlight as he walked toward Keith. 

Keith didn’t remember Lance ever coming in to get it done, but from the wave and the clap on the back from James, and how Ryan’s eyes seemed to focus in on the piercing in a way that Keith always did with the tattoo he’d done on Lance, he knew exactly who was in the shop when he had come down. 

Lance was wearing another colourful entourage; a tie-die denim jacket with pastel blues and pinks, and dusty grey jeans that were ripped on the knees in a way Keith knew wasn’t done for fashion, but somehow worked anyway.

“Hey.” And maybe his greeting was delayed, but if it was, Lance didn’t say anything, merely fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “I’m all booked up for tattoos today but if you want another-“

“No, it’s okay.” Lance continued to smile. “I wondered if you wanted to, uh, maybe get lunch. When you have your break, of course.”

“I’ve got another client,” Keith frowned. James started making cut throat gestures from where he was sitting in Ryan’s piercing chair, looking ridiculous with his tongue stuck out on a bar as Ryan berated him to stop moving so he could pierce it properly. Keith got the message all the same and quickly backtracked. “I mean, I’d love to. I’d much rather hang out with you than this prick anyway, but I can’t.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My break’ll be another couple of hours, after I’ve finished whatever he wants done.”

“That’s okay, I can wait!” Lance smiled. “I haven’t got anywhere I need to be. Just wanted to get out the house for a bit. It gets a little suffocating, y’know? Especially when it’s so beautiful out today!”

Keith frowned. The bright weather like this meant stifling leather when he was riding his bike and headaches from the brightness of the sun.

“Sure, you can wait. It’ll be boring as fuck, though. James and Ryan might try and sway you into getting another piercing.”

Lance hummed. “Maybe I will.” He tapped a finger to his lip in thought, chewing on his nail. “What one do you think will look good?” 

Lance gave him another smile, waiting for Keith to assess. Keith swallowed down the nausea - if it was even that - and tried his best to remain professional. “Uh, either a lip ring or an industrial? I’m sure James will know what to do - or what to get Ryan to do, anyway.”

Lance’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he tried to picture it. “Hm, maybe. My Papa almost killed me after the last one, so maybe an ear piercing would be better.”

Keith nodded, watching a large, muscular man stomp through the door, propping his sunglasses on top of his head. Keith let out a long sigh as Lance stepped out the way for him.

“Hey, Sendak. I’ve got the design ready. Check it and see if you’re happy and we can get-“

Sendak snatched the paper from his grip, eyes squinting as he scrutinised it.

“It’ll do. Let’s start; I’m running on a schedule.”

-

Keith doesn’t see what James and Ryan end up doing to Lance while he’s waiting for Keith to finish a boring-ass tribal tattoo on Sendak’s arm, but he can hear laughter and Ryan reassuring Lance that it won’t hurt, so he can tell they’re giving him some form of piercing, at least. 

When he’s finally finished the symbol that Sendak is certain means “power”, he quickly goes through the motions of explaining aftercare and everything that comes with a new tattoo. Only two sentences in, Sendak had shoved him a handful of notes and swiftly exited the studio. 

When Sendak had left, Keith took one look at James’s devious smirk and groaned.

“What did you do?”

His grin widened and he dramatically gestured to where Lance was sitting, looking down at a leaflet as Ryan rambled on to him.

James interrupted the conversation, dragging Lance over to Keith. “I present to you, the newly improved Lance McClain!” 

Lance blinked and stood awkwardly as Keith inspected him. He looked the same as before. 

“Show him! We’re twins!” Lance let out a small sigh, before poking out his tongue, where a small silver ball glinted.

Keith folded his arms and looked to James. “You really convinced him to get an impulse piercing?”

“You _know_ I’m the best at that,” James puffed his chest out proudly. “It was either that or an impulse tattoo. Now, Keith, if you would please let this gentleman pay for his new piercing then take him off on your coffee date, I would be much obliged.”

Ryan was over in a shot, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “No hot drinks, stick to iced coffee for a few weeks.”

“And no kissing,” James winked at Keith. “Or oral-“ James’s voice filtered out into a screech as Keith shot forward with his fist raised.

-

As they left the shop, James shouted for Keith to bring him back a coffee - “you still owe me for that time you had to see Dr. Holt!” Keith had promptly slammed the door shut behind him, hoping Lance hadn’t heard what James had called for the whole world to hear.

Sometimes the bastard didn’t _think._

Lance had heard it, but had merely given him a curious look, not saying another word. 

“I know a good place,” Lance had said once they’d abruptly left the quiet studio and began to walk into the streets. Like surfacing from water, the sounds of the city snapped back to the forefront of their minds, and they had to shout to one another over the roaring of the cars. It was completely different to what the streets were like merely a few nights ago.

“Where?” Keith had called, but a bus screeched past as he’d said it, so he wasn’t too sure Lance had heard him. If he did, he didn’t reply.

Lance lead him to the outskirts of town, where the buildings were are worn with quaint, family run businesses trying to scrape by. They passed a colourful florist and Lance had taken a second to stop on the sidewalk and stare at their beautiful displays of flowers, fingers running over the tattoo Keith had given him. Keith had half a mind to run in and buy him one, just to whisk away the solemn expression that had passed over his face at the sight of them all. Almost as though looking at them all physically pained him. 

But that was strange and he certainly wasn’t a romantic person in any way or form. Just ask James on that one.

Keith didn’t need to be romantic, anyway. He was going for a coffee with an acquaintance. Maybe a potential friend._ Maybe_.

Lance muttered something under his breath in a language Keith didn’t quite catch, before snapping out of his trance and grabbing Keith’s arm, tugging him across the road. They both missed being swept under the wheels of a rattling van. “Wake up, Mullet!” Lance had laughed, the sunlight drawing out from behind the clouds catching his eyes just right, glinting like the tiny silver wind chimes kept outside the florists.

Opposite the florist was the coffee shop. It was small and far more well kept than most of the other stores on this side of town. 

It was decorated with an array of flowers and topiary - most likely from the florist opposite. Lance rushed and held the door open for a bumbling old lady. She’d lifted her tweed sunhat and Keith could have sworn she’d said Lance’s name when she’d thanked him. 

Lance gestured for Keith to walk inside too, so he did, and Lance beamed when he’d pretended to dip his hat and say thank you, just as the lady had done.

Inside the shop smelt so…_warm, _of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans and freshly baked bread, everything that just reminded Keith of what a _home_ should be. There was a low chatter, almost silent, and in replacement of the usual abstract art that adorns every coffee shop, there were shelves filled with second hand books. Above the largest shelf was a sign, hand painted to read: ‘book exchange’. 

“You put a book you’ve read on the shelf that resonated with you, and take a book some else had put down,” Lance explained, as though knowing Keith was wondering. “I’ve put a few of mine down in the past. I always wonder who put down the ones I’ve read - you can tell a lot about a person by their favourite book or poem.”

“What is it?” Keith had asked, watching Lance’s fingers trace over the worn spines with such a gentleness, it was like he was instead stroking the fur of a small animal. 

  
“What is what?” He asked.

“Your favourite book?”

Lance stopped to think for a while, before mumbling: “The Cat in the Rain. Ernest Hemingway. Or at least, that’s my favourite at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah, being a writing student you have to go with something pretentious.” Keith folded his arms.

The corner of Lance’s eyes crinkled up as he laughed. “Alright then, hot shot, what’s your favourite book? The Hungry Caterpillar seems like your academic level.”

“Hey!” Keith shoved Lance gently. “Actually, it is a, uh, kids book.”

Lance’s eyebrows raised a little. “Oh, what one?”

“It’s called Little Beaver and the Echo,” he mumbled, feeling heat rush up to his cheeks. Whenever anyone else had asked him his favourite book (which he must say, was close to never), he’d stumbled and picked something along the lines of _Salem’s Lot_ or _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ -both of which he _did_ love, but neither had gotten close to the warm space in his heart some old kids book had. “I, uh, it was one of the only things I owned as a kid - my dad had bought it for me when I was struggling to fit in my class at school. I don’t have it anymore.” He sighed, remembering the night where he’d packed his bag in such a hurry he’d forgotten it, hidden under the mattress of his bed in his foster home. 

“I’ve never read that before. I’ll have to find a copy of it,” Lance smiled, “it sounds cute. Anyway, let’s go!” He plucked a book from the shelf at random, holding it to his chest. “You’ve _got_ to try their cinnamon rolls, believe me, your life is not worth _living_ until you’ve had one of them!”

When they get to the front of the queue, they’re greeted by a kindly woman, her curled, black hair tied into a bun and held neatly with an orange headband. 

“Lance! Hunk’s in the kitchen today, I’ll give him a shout for you. How’re you doing?” She asked, immediately grabbing a coffee cup. 

“I’m doing better,” Lance smiled. “But no coffee today - look!” He stuck out his tongue. The woman frowned at the piercing, before laughing. 

“Your papa’s not gonna be happy about that.” She placed the cup back down. 

“He’s not happy about most of the stuff I get up to,” Lance chuckled. “I’ll take an iced tea - the peach one I had last time. With lemonade, please!” She immediately got on it. 

“And who’s your friend?” 

“This is Keith! He works at Garrison Tattoos.”

“Oh, is this the Keith that did your mama’s tattoo for you?”

Lance tensed up a little. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

“It’s a beautiful tattoo.”

It took Keith a second to realise that the lady was talking to _him_. 

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

“Rosa would have loved it.”

Keith wasn’t too sure how to respond to that. Lance had the tea slammed down in front of him. 

“I’m paying for Keith’s drink,” Lance said quickly. “What do you want, Mullet?”

“You don’t have to, I can-“

“Nope,” Lance popped his ‘p’. “I can recommend you their hot chocolate. No matter how down you are, if you ask for their special hot chocolate, it’s always gonna cheer you up.”

“I’m happy,” Keith muttered.

Keith took Lance’s recommendation anyway. Lance ordered them a couple of the ‘legendary’ cinnamon rolls. The lady shouted into the kitchen: ‘two cinnamon rolls, Hunk - Lance is here!” 

The cost was barely enough for one coffee, Keith had noticed. Lance seemed to know the family running the cafe pretty well, though, so they must give him discounts. 

“Go get a seat, I’ll bring our drinks over. I wanna say hi to Hunk.” He shoved his book into Keith’s hands to take with him.

Keith did as he said, finding a booth in the corner that looked out the street. It had began to rain, again. People rushed by with their hoods pulled up, umbrellas held high. Cars flashed past, and crossings hollered as people darted across the road, all looking to run home for shelter.

A few years ago, Keith would have feared the winter, when all it ever did was rain. He wasn’t too sure how he’d pulled out of the other side, but whenever the year found itself cycling back to the season again, he always found himself curling up tightly into warmth, and appreciating it just a little more.

He spotted Lance lifting a tray up and beginning to make his way over, shouting a thank you to a large boy who looked a picture image to the woman who had served them, right down to the orange headband. He assumed this man was Hunk, who beamed widely at Lance and waved him off, as though Lance was leaving on a week long voyage, rather than a simple walk to the corner of the coffee shop where Keith sat.

Just as Lance got to the table, tray rattling from his shaking hands, his wrists seemed to give out, or he tripped, and Keith was too slow to catch it as it tumbled to the ground, spilling the drinks over the table. Keith lifted up his phone and Lance’s book just in time before they were drenched under the tsunami of hot chocolate and iced tea.

“Shit!” Lance wrapped his arms around himself as Keith rushed to lift everything up. Before he could even utter a reassurance to Lance, the man, Hunk, was over in a flash with a large blue-roll, wiping the table down. 

“I knew I should have helped you carry it over!” Hunk began to clean it up quickly, as though he’d done it plenty of times before. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance mumbled. His words were quiet, so gentle. Keith didn’t realise it was directed at him, until he looked up to hand Lance his book, realising that Lance was still looking at him. His eyes were glossed over and he was holding onto himself so tightly. He looked so suddenly pale, and Keith could only move over a chair for him to take a seat.

“It’s okay, Lance.” Keith told him. “If it wasn’t you, it’d have been me. I’m always tripping over stuff.” He didn’t, or at least, never like that, but he would say anything to stop Lance from making _that_ expression. So defeated, so filled with self-hatred.

“There’s no use crying over spilt coffee,” Keith had nudged him with a laugh, but Lance simply lowered his head. So maybe Keith _wasn’t_ good at talking to people. Sue him.

Shiro would know what to do. But Keith wasn’t Shiro. He was the opposite. 

“I, uh, saved your book.” Keith tried once more, just as Hunk finished cleaning the table. Lance took it and mumbled a thank you, trying to force a wobbly smile. 

“I’ll get us some more drinks,” Keith smiled.

“No, it’s okay, it was my fault-“

“It was an accident,” Keith told him.

When Keith got to the front of the queue again, Hunk was already there with freshly re-made drinks, telling Keith he didn’t have to pay for those. Keith took one glance back to Lance, then looked to the flowers behind the counter, separate bunches of snowdrops all for sale. “Can I have one of those flowers, too?”

Lance was reading the blurb of the book when Keith came back, so carefully carrying the drinks and flowers on the tray. He placed the tray down onto the table and gave Lance a smile.

“Here,” he handed Lance his tea. “I also bought you these. Thought you’d like them.”

And maybe the grey sky outside became just a little clearer when Lance smiled and took the flowers from Keith, his dewy eyes twinkling once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late but I've had an assignment due so I had to get that sorted first!! I hope you enjoy!

**** The low hum of the fan filtered through the office and caused the pages on the open book on the desk to flutter, very much like the water rippling in the glass Keith kept clutched in his hand. He sank further into the corner of the worn couch, shivering. The fan whirred in the corner despite it being such a cold morning.

Before him sat Colleen, her peach skirt filtered out around her as she sipped at her cup of coffee. Her grey cardigan was wrapped tightly around her, her lips pursed shut as she watched Keith, patiently waiting for him to answer her question.

“No. It’s uh, it’s four now?” Keith frowned, though didn’t want to remember the exact day, because then he’d also remember all the grisly details. “Four,” he said more firmly, if just to get her off of his back.

“Four,” she repeated with a nod and a quick squiggle in her notebook. The engraved words on the cover, partially hidden by her hand, read: _not all those who wander are lost_ upon it, a slight comfort to him, as it reminded him that he was in the hands of Pidge’s mother, whom Pidge had gotten her obsession with fantasy from. “And how are you feeling today?” 

Keith hesitated, taking a sip of water to not only attempt to wash away the dryness in his throat, but to also prolong the time it took for him to answer. 

Colleen waited. She mirrored Keith and took another sip of her coffee. 

“I don’t know, I-“ He trailed off, his fingers tapping against the glass, leg shaking restlessly. The soft chinking of his fingernails against the surface of the glass reminded him of Lance’s soft laugh, the sunlight glinting through the thick green curtains reminded him of how the light caught on his face as they-

“-I feel strange,” Keith settled. Colleen nodded. Keith could see her shoulders slacken, most likely relieved that it wouldn’t be another session of Keith just sitting in silence. 

“Are you able to expand on that a little?” Colleen had asked. Keith hesitated, for longer this time, trying to catch that feeling, like trying to grab hold of a fly darting about a room. He couldn’t quite grasp it, and, when he finally cupped his hands around it, pried his fingers apart to catch a glimpse, they would be empty, and it would be fluttering somewhere else in the room, out of reach.

“No.” Keith muttered. “I don’t…think I can.”

“That’s okay,” Colleen reassured him. “Let’s try practising some mindfulness instead. You deserve a break.”

Immediately Keith’s shoes hit the ground from where they were propped up on the sofa in front of him. He closed his eyes and willed the tension from his limbs away, starting from his toes, all the way up to his neck. Or something, he was never entirely sure it worked, but he’d pretend it was a miracle routine if it meant he didn’t have to hear his own voice anymore.

“Now, let’s start with some breathing.”

-

Shiro was well within his right mind to kick both Keith and James out of the studio at this point. _Especially_ with Iverson (who for once was actually present in the shop) patrolling the floor. Keith’s station had always been directly next to Shiro’s, where he sat colouring Pidge’s robot, trying not to stare at the tattoo Shiro was giving the woman next to him. 

He couldn’t help but catch glances at Shiro’s expression, though. His lips were pulled tight, and he seemed to be simply forcing himself to do the tramp-stamp that was an arrow pointing to her ass saying ‘property of Darren’. Normally, Shiro would refuse to do such a thing. kKeith had definitely refused earlier, when she’d asked him to do it. But, as Iverson was in the shop, and he didn’t care about the artist’s reputation, only the money they could earn him, Shiro had to take on the task. 

He’d originally wanted to take her to the back room where it was more private, but James was still cleaning up after doing a chest piece for one of his friends. Shiro had suggested she come back tomorrow, but she said she didn’t care being out in the open, and didn’t even take the towel Shiro had courteously given her to help her cover up. 

Pidge tried her best not to snicker to herself where she was lying, so as not to jolt Keith and ruin the tattoo. 

“How’s Lance?” She asked instead, in an attempt to distract them both from what was happening next door.

“I don’t know, how is he? You hang out with him more than I do.”

“Not anymore,” Pidge retorted. “He’s always talking about going to visit you. Hey, he even said you guys went on a _date_ yesterday.”

Keith paused. “He said _what_?”

“Y’know, a coffee date?”

“It wasn’t a date.” Keith gets back to work, trying to avoid looking at how Pidge rolled her eyes at him.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” He could see her smirk out the corner of his eye. “He won’t stop talking about you and that damn tattoo you did.”

“Ew, who would talk about _Keith_?” James pitched in, sauntering past them. He stopped and held the bottle of disinfectant out at Keith like a pistol. “Most boring asshole here.”

Keith didn’t take the bait and pretend to surrender as he usually does, merely snatching away the disinfectant and hanging it back on his work bench. 

There was a long, awkward silence. James whistled. “_Anyway_, I’m gonna go take my break. Pasta la vista, fuckers.” 

“It’s _Hasta_,” Keith muttered as Pidge burst out laughing. 

“Fuck you!” 

-

It wasn’t long until Shiro sent Keith off on his break, while he stayed to talk Iverson through their bookings and earnings for the past week. Sometimes Keith felt like it was Shiro who owned the place, and Iverson simply took the credit and money.

He sat in the break room while James ran a comb through his hair, getting himself ready for his date with Ryan, who was coming to pick James up from work to take him out.

“How are things between you two?” Keith asked, taking a bite out of the protein bar James had tossed him as soon as he’d entered the break room.

James shrugged, though he drew his shoulders in, shuffling over and slumping next to Keith on the couch. “I guess…Ryan’s still not over his ex. We uh, we were doing the-“ James made a hand gesture that really shouldn’t explain anything, but Keith got the point. Still, James felt the need to explain again. “The…Ugh, basically he called out his ex’s name. When we were…having sex.”

There was a long silence, only the muffled murmur of Shiro’s voice and quiet hum of music filtering through the door, distant, as though a few thousand miles away. 

“Oh,” Keith rasped. “That’s…uh…”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “We argued, obviously. I slept on the couch. Or I at least _tried_, but the next thing I know he’s carrying me to bed and taking the couch himself. He’s…” James ran a hand through his hair. “I should dump him for that. But he’s just…he’s so nice, and he seems like he actually does _care _but-“

“But calling out his ex’s name is pretty damn horrible, James.” Keith drew his knees to his chest. “I mean, we had our issues, but at least neither of us stooped that low.”

“I know. He’s taking me out tonight to make up for it, but…I don’t know.” James groaned. “Man, I wish I still smoked.”

Keith gave him a pointed glare.

“I’m _not_ going to go back on it again,” James muttered. “I just…ugh, I don’t _know_, Keith. Let’s talk about something else. Hey, y ou think you could do me another tattoo?” James pulled up the sleeve of his varsity jacket. “I was thinking of getting something like a phoenix. Maybe with it’s tail wrapping around my wrist. I think it would look really cool in your style. With lots of bright colours. I want it to look like my arms on fire.”

Keith smiled. “Sure.”

“Thanks. We should hang out some time, again. Just us. Like go to a concert again and just let loose - no boyfriends, no worries. Get wasted.”

“_You_ can get wasted. I don’t think that’d end well for me.”

James laughed, about to speak, probably an embarrassing story about how much of a lightweight Keith was on the tip of his tongue, when a shrill beep cut through the silence. James let out a sigh, his brow knitting up. “That’s Ryan. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, James?” James turned. “You deserve the world and it’s mother - make sure he still knows that.”

_ Make sure he gives you the happiness I couldn’t._

James smiled wearily back. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

-

** _ Lance: _ ** _Hey!!! How’s things at the studio?? Come meet me at the shelter tonight - I’ve got a surpriseeeee ;)_

_-_

It was brighter today. The breeze, though crisp, was gentle and the clouds were pale and sparse, showing no sign of rain for the first time in a good few days, the sky even showing off little slivers of sunshine. 

The streets, in return, were bustling with people. Keith found it hard to weave his way through the crowds on his walk to the animal shelter. As soon as Keith answered his question as to why he was smiling so much when he’d gotten back from his break, (not believing for a second it was simply because James had clocked off) he’d had his mind set on letting Keith leave as early as possible. So here he was, arriving at the animal shelter an hour earlier than anticipated.

It looked different during the daytime. Rather than being the glowing beacon of warm light, it was sleek and professional, the polished windows glinting and reflecting off the passing cars. It’s professionalism was tainted slightly from the hoard of animal plushies sitting in the window, along with what looked to be a “hall of furry fame” on the far wall inside that could be seen from the window, with framed pictures of various animals from parakeets to…Lance, who was waving frantically at Keith with said parakeet sitting on his shoulder, pecking at whatever Lance was holding in his hand.

Keith pushed through the glass doors, this time without the furry greeting of Blue. Instead, a ginger haired man from the counter let out a shrill shriek.

“_This_ is the boy that saved dear Cosmo?!” In an orange blur, Keith found the tall man in front of him and frantically shaking his hand. “Thank you so much for bringing the animal to us, young man!”

“Coran,” Lance said, scolding very much like he would one of the animas. Coran backed away, but still the tips of his moustache were tilted up as he smiled. “Hey, Keith!”

“Uh, hi,” Keith tried a measly wave, only to have his hand grabbed by Lance.

“I’m taking him out the back!”

Somehow, the bird managed to keep a steady balance on Lance’s shoulder as he tore through the surgery. The same couldn’t be said for Keith, who immediately bashed his hip on the surgery table and almost tripped over.

Keith merely blinked and found himself out back, in a hall where a flurry of various animal noises met his ears. Lance finally let go, allowing Keith to rub at his aching hip, watching as Lance gently set the bird back into its enclosure.

“There we go, Prof, green, I’ll let you out for your full time later. Unfortunately I have some important issues to discuss with Mr. Emo-McMullethead, right here,” he cooed, locking the door.

Keith thumped Lance on the head. “It’s not a fucking mullet, asshole!”

Lance burst into laughter, and it was impossible for Keith to keep his grumpy exterior. He ended up laughing with him.

“Oh, sorry about Coran, by the way,” Lance mumbled as they walked through the hall, after finally calming down. “He’s a little boisterous.”

“You two related?” Keith muttered, still rubbing his hip that was definitely gonna bruise.

“Oh, ha ha, you’re hilarious, Kieth. I’m not boisterous, _you’re_ just clumsy.”

“Says the guy who threw our coffees at me a few days ago.”

That may have been the wrong thing to say, because Keith could have sworn Lance tensed up, if only for a second, before he let out an all too-shrill laugh.

“What’s the surprise?” Keith asked after Lance’s laughter abruptly stopped and there was only silence between them.

“It’s a _surprise_, Mullet. I can’t tell you!” Lance shoved Keith.

“Maybe I don’t _like_ surprises.”

“You’ll like this one, trust me!” Lance turned and shot Keith a sickeningly-sweet smile. 

Keith huffed and tried to stop the corner of his lips from tugging upwards, following Lance along. Once they reached the end of the hall, Lance halted Keith at the end kennel with a raised hand.

“Now, feast your eyes upon Altea’s newest and bestest boy,” Lance frantically unlocked the door. “Cosmo!”

Out bundled the puppy Keith had saved in a flurry of yaps and tail-wags. Already, in just a week, he’d grown both in weight and in height. His matted fur was sleek and healthy, apart from one single part on his stomach that had been shaved away. He bounced around happily, jumping up Lance’s let with an excitable ‘yip!’

“Hey, boy!” Lance ruffled Cosmo’s fur. “Look, it’s Uncle Mullet!”

As though he could understand Lance (and that _stupid_ nickname), the puppy rushed over to Keith, jumping up with his great paws, yipping up at Keith, his tongue sloshing out at Keith’s hand.

“I wanted you to see him. Because of you, he’s really happy.” 

Keith wiped his hands on his jumper, smiling. “Thank you, Lance.” 

“Wanna take him for a walk?” Lance asked. At the word, Cosmo jumped up Lance’s legs, his yapping getting louder. 

Lance quickly rushed to wrap himself up in a thick coat, managing to get Cosmo to sit down for long enough to clip the lead onto his collar, before taking him out into the back garden of the surgery. It was closer to a field, with various toys and tunnels for the animals to use. There also was a rabbit hutch, where a couple of bunnies nibbled on the grass, looking unblinkingly at both Keith and Lance as they trekked through the grass, now dark silhouettes against the enflamed sky.

Cosmo ran as far as his lead could go. Once checking the back gate was shut and secure, Lance let him off his leash. He ran a lap around the field, yapping at birds and chasing them away, plummeting into a bush on his way. The birds shrieked and flew off into the sky. Keith watched them, for once not feeling envious of them.

“He’s up for adoption, y’know,” Lance muttered, frowning a blue frisbee. Cosmo tore out from the bush, leaves drifting behind him as he raced after the frisbee, racing through a tunnel and jumping to get it.

“I bet he has loads of people queueing up to adopt him.” Keith said, watching Cosmo run back. Keith tried to take it, but he backed away and ran another lap around the garden with it still clenched in his jaw.

“About that,” Lance bit his lip, tugging the bobbled hat he wore more securely onto his head as a strong gust of wind took over the both of them. His cheeks were flushed and Keith couldn’t help but find the sight absolutely adorable.

Leaves of varied shades of red and orange, like little embers of flame, rained down upon them both. Lance continued: “He’s not actually that friendly to other people. He’s okay with Allura, he _hates_ Coran, and…everyone else that looks at him. He’s just too _much_ for people. He knocked over a little girl when a family came to see him yesterday. She bumped her head - we’re so lucky they didn’t sue us or something.”

Cosmo finally came back. Lance tried to grab the frisbee, unintentionally signing up for a game of tug of war. Lance gave up halfway through, letting Cosmo run off with it. “I was wondering,” he continued, sounding a little short of breath, “as he gets on so well with you, if you’d be interested in giving him a home? As you rescued him, after all,” Lance mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet. “I _know_ I’m putting you on the spot - I’m sorry - but I just…he bit Coran this morning and if he does that to a customer and is put down as a dangerous dog, we’re gonna have no choice but to let the authorities put him down and…” Lance sighed. “I don’t want to fail him like that.”

Cosmo ran back. Keith pried the frisbee from Cosmo’s jowl. “Cosmo jumped up and tried to grab it from his hand, yipping at it to throw it again. 

Keith sighed, looking from Cosmo’s pleading blue eyes, to Lance’s. Something sparked in his gut as the wind howled and leaves rained down around them, and he found himself realising Lance could have asked him absolutely _anything _in that moment, and the answer would still be the same.

-

“No.”

Adam glanced back and forth between the two. Keith had his arms folded, glaring at Shiro. Shiro glared back, looking frightening even in his spotty pyjama bottoms and old Christmas jumper with ‘santa’s favourite ho’ written in a terrible lime green font. 

It was laundry day, clearly.

In that moment, Keith looked to Adam, eyes wide. Adam let out a long, drawn out sigh. He knew he should side with Shiro - how the hell were they gonna keep a puppy - a dog who’s gonna grow up to be _huge _in their crummy apartment?

He knew he _should_ say no, too, but he, really, _really_ wanted a dog too, so he said:

“Y’know, it’s proven that having a pet has a positive impact on mental health,” Adam retorted, wincing under Shiro’s steely glare. He noticed Keith wince, probably having heard the same thing recited to him from countless councillors reading from textbooks. He must’ve been desperate to have the dog, though, considering he didn’t interrupt. “I’m just _saying_. Also, petting animals reduces stress, which you could _both_ benefit from.” At Shiro’s raised brow, Adam let out a sigh. “Look, I think this is actually a pretty good idea. Besides, we _are_ allowed pets here. I’m surprised it’s taken us this long to discuss getting a pet.”

Shiro looked to Keith. Adam groaned, as did Keith. The hand was on the hip, and Adam could almost see Shiro’s hair turn grey as he went into ‘dad mode.’ “You’re looking after it, and if that dog loses our damn deposit on this place you’re paying it back to me when we move.”

“Wow, thanks dad,” Keith rolled his eyes, though seconds later he pounced on Shiro and drew him not a tight hug.

“Y’know, Keith, this is your apartment too,” Adam reminded him for the hundredth time. “You could’ve told Shiro to fuck off and gotten the dog still, and he wouldn’t be able to say a word about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Adam.”

Adam simply grabbed a pillow on the couch and threw it at him.

-

Keith leant back in the chair, viewing the watercolored paw-print on the girls wrist with a small smile. He could definitely see Lance getting something similar - maybe he’d have to suggest it to him if he wants another tattoo. 

“Is it all done?” The girl asked, other hand still gripped onto her best-friends hand, her knuckles white.

“Yeah, if you’re happy with it?”

She inspected it thoroughly, whispering a few words to her friend. Keith waited, feeling more like he was under the scrutiny of Iverson than a couple of girls in their early twenties.

They both turned to him. “Yeah, it’s good.”  


Keith quickly babbled on to them as he wrapped up her tattoo and lead them to the desk. James was on the phone and promptly scooted the wheelie-chair he’d stolen from Shiro’s office (because he was bored and wanted to spend the evening spinning around) out of the way without getting up. 

After the girl had paid up, she hesitated, watching Keith fiddle with the cash register, weaving around James who was trying his best to trip him up while telling a woman that _no, her 14 year old daughter could not get tattoos of love-hearts on her nipples - no, not even if it was done by one of their female artists._

“Uh, is there anything else?” Keith asked when he saw that the two girls hadn’t yet budged. James slammed the phone back in its cradle with a huff, reaching for his iced coffee Ryan had dropped on the way to the gym this morning. They both seemed to have made up, for now.

“I was just wondering how long this would last?” The girl asked.

James choked, coffee splattering all over the counter. Keith wiped a few droplets off his cheek, staring back at the two.

“It’s a tattoo,” Keith replied bluntly. 

“I know _that_, I’m not an idiot. How long does this one last? A month?”

“Forever?” Keith folded his arms. “It’s permanent.”

Her eyes bulged. “Oh. Thank you.” She squeaked, and promptly disappeared out of the shop, her friend following suite.

“Oh my god, _no_, dude - go get the bingo card. I think we’ve just got ourselves a full line,” James rasped, still coughing.

Keith huffed and stepped into the staff room, grabbing it from where it was pinned up on the wall. He slapped the paper back in front of James, who immediately crossed it off and drew a line. “Hah! Ina owes me a fiver!”

“I never thought I’d see the ay _you_ would outsmart someone, let alone Ina.”

“Excuse you, Mr. Dropout, but at least _I _actually got through our course. With a first, might I add.”

“And yet people call you up to ask if _I’m_ free to do a tattoo.”

“I have people _queueing_ to book with me! My schedules so full I’m going _grey_ with stress!”

“You sure that’s not just because you’re old?”

“You’re two _months_ older than me!”

Keith noticed Ryan walk up to the shop. Almost immediately James stiffened. 

_ Okay, maybe they hadn’t made up yet._

“I’d better go,” James quickly grabbed his sketchbook, shrugging on his jacket from the back of Shiro’s chair. “Can you put that back in Shiro’s office so I don’t get fired again?”

“You’ve gotten fired six times this week and yet you’re still here, I don’t know how this time will make a difference,” Keith huffed, folding his arms. “Sure.”

“Thanks!” James rushed to the staffroom door just as Ryan opened the front door. “Later, grandpa!” 

Keith raised his middle finger to the door as it slammed shut. 

“James-!” Ryan called, but already, James was gone. Ryan huffed, pushing open the door and disappearing without so much as a glance at Keith. Keith simply grabbed Shiro’s chair, taking it back into his office, just hoping that the two could sort through their problems at some point.

James and Keith were too much alike, running away from problems and pretending they didn’t exist. 

-

When Ryan came back out, in an orange and black varsity Jacket that Keith had honestly thought was James’s with how often he’s seem him wear it, he managed a shaken smile. 

“You can finish up now, I can handle the shop ’til Shiro gets here.”

“I’m covering him. We made a deal,” Keith shrugged. “He wanted to take Adam out tonight.”

Ryan gave a nod.

“James said earlier that you deleted her number.”

Ryan gave a short nod, not saying another word. Keith looked up from glaring at the outlines of James’s phoenix tattoo he was working on to look at Ryan. Ryan looking out at the streets, watching people and lights flash by. 

“Did you?” He pressed.

Ryan didn’t say anything, but the heavy silence that couldn’t even be broken by the rumbling engines and the shriek of sirens outside told Keith all he needed to know.

He watched him, his silhouette stark against the red sunset. Flames of rage ignited in his gut and he wanted to punch, to yell, to try and scream some sense into him, and from the clenched fists and tense shoulders, it looked like Ryan had suspected the same thing.

Instead, Keith turned back to the drawing, muttering a: “you’re better than this. _He_ deserves better than this.”

“I know.” Ryan rasped.

-

It was an awkward, silent evening. Customers came and went, mainly for piercings. Keith stayed behind the counter as Ryan worked, drawing, silently seething, even though he knew he had no room to be angry at Ryan.

He was on the phone to a customer who was cancelling their appointment with Shiro tomorrow morning, when the door burst open. The shrill ring caused both Ryan and Keith to jolt.

Lance rushed up to the counter, breathing heavily, his hair sodden and sticking to his slick forehead. He was wearing dark blue vet slacks which clung to his skin that was ridged with goosebumps and bruising on his forearm. His chest heaved, his piercing eyes wide. His lips had began to tint a dull shade of blue.

“Lance?” Keith interrupted the customers measly excuses from the phone, pen falling from his grip. He absentmindedly hung up on the customer and rushed to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Lance’s eyes flitted between Keith and the shop window. “Can…Can I walk home with you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have people waiting for me,” lied Keith, because there was no way he was setting foot in there. No way his sodden, muddy combat boots were going to dirty that spotlessly clean carpet in the hall, nor was he going to cause a sibling to eat from the couch away from their own family because he took up a chair. He wasn’t going to make them rush to prepare for another mouth to feed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM - completely miss the scene that starts from: 'it had been a couple of days since then' and ends at: "well next time you actually see her, tell her about it if you can't tell us. Please, Keith." Please be careful my dudes <3
> 
> Hey everyone! I'm sorry it took so long to get this next chapter out - I have so many deadlines coming up for uni right now and I'm ill so :( 
> 
> The next chapter is written and half edited already (mainly because it was meant to be in this chapter, but I realised it was way too long). It shouldn't take so long to get it up this time! 
> 
> If you look close enough you can see I'm starting to actually hint at What's Up With Lance. ;) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyyyyy!!!
> 
> Oh, and if you haven't already seen, I have a playlist for this fic now! Go check it out!!: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/54884f71wq41cyKkkg7Cwo?si=IiRgmsE6QASDkNuUDZvaVQ

Beads of water dropped onto the counter. Trembling hands gripped onto the edge of the counter. Lance looked at Keith with wide eyes, as though he was teetering on the edge of begging.  
****

Keith gave a single nod, hands hovering over Lance’s shoulders as he lead him out to the staff room. “We’re closing up in an hour. You can stay out here until I finish - it’s warmer,” he muttered, and if the situation seemed like what he thought it was, Lance would appreciate being out of sight. He quickly shrugged off his hoodie and threw it to Lance. “It might be a little small on you but it’s dry, at least.”

Lance takes a seat on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight. “Thank you. I’m sorry for all this, I’ll make it up to you.”

He looked so terrified. What happened?

Keith merely gave him a nod, hesitating, before leaving into the storefront. Ryan was behind the desk talking to a customer, despite them being ten minutes away from closing.

As Keith approached, he noticed the bleached, ridiculously long locks of hair. Lotor.

“You haven’t seen anyone come past or in the store at all?” Lotor asked Ryan, leaning against the counter, eyes searching all corners of the shop. 

Keith stepped up besides Ryan, who gave him a weary glance. “No. No one. It’s been so quiet Keith took an extra cigarette break out back, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Keith ran a hand through his hair. Lotor raised an eyebrow.

“What a talent you have for not getting wet.”

“I stole Ryan’s rain coat - get down to my knees.” Thankfully, lies came easy to Keith.

“Well, we’d best close the store up. Did you need to book another tattoo or…” Ryan muttered, grabbing the store keys where they hung under the desk as though he needed to prove his point.

“Yes, I will. With Keith - your last tattoo was exceptional.”

Keith vaguely remembered Lotor complaining to Shiro about his tattoo in an attempt to get a discount. In spite of that, he simply muttered a ‘sure’ and flicked through the appointment book.

Keith booked him in as quickly as possible, Ryan watching over with weary eyes. The tension weighed heavily on both of their shoulders, and they were glad to see Lotor finally leave. 

Once the door clicked shut, Keith looked wearily to Ryan, but neither said a word. They both cleared up quickly, before Keith head out back. Lance was still there, perched on the very edge of the couch, trembling hands wringing the sleeves of Keith’s hoodie. His head jerked up at the sound of Keith entering the room. 

Keith grabbed his bag and threw his helmet over to Lance. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Despite only being in a thin t-shirt that stuck to his skin with the icy shards of cold rain, Keith felt overheated. The raindrops trickling down his temple and the back of his neck felt more like beads of sweat. 

The city flashed by in a whirlwind of colours. Lance clutched tighter onto Keith, causing more warmth to seep through him. 

Lance shouted directions into his ear, until finally, they reached a house. It was quite large, or at least, large to Keith, who was currently sharing a two-person apartment with Shiro and Adam. It was lit up, shining a rich, golden light into the dark street. 

He pulled up alongside it, the low rumbling of his engine doing nothing to block out the laughter that seeped through the windows. The shutters were drawn up but Keith could see the silhouettes of figures sitting around a living room, laughing and talking.

Lance hoped off of the bike and grabbed onto Keith’s hand to tug him to the door. He was still shivering.

Lance pushed open the door. With quivering breath, he called out: ‘I’m home!’ 

The laughter fell silent. There was a moment of stillness, before:

“Lance! Where have you been?!” A gruff, gravelly tone berated. Soft footsteps rushed around the corner and a man with greying hair and greying eyes appeared, his dressing gown billowing out behind him like a earl-grey cape. “I was five minutes away from sending out a search party! Coran never called to say you were working late?”

Lance continued to shiver. Before he could explain himself, his father cut in: “Get in here! You’re going to get sick again! Go run a bath, Veronica’ll grab you some dry clothes.”

Lance was pulled into the house and out of sight before Keith could even utter a goodbye.

That left him and who he assumed was Lance’s father, who until now had barely given Keith a second glance. 

“Thank you for bringing him home,” his father smiled warmly. Exclamations of ‘Lance!’ Came from upstairs. The delicious smell of homemade cooking filtered through the door.

_ This - this was family,_ Keith thought.

“Would you like to stay and wait out the rain? There’s enough food for an extra person - Marco always goes overboard when Lance is home.”

“I have people waiting for me,” lied Keith, because there was no way he was setting foot in there. No way his sodden, muddy combat boots were going to dirty that spotlessly clean carpet in the hall, nor was he going to cause a sibling to eat from the couch away from their own family because he took up a chair. He wasn’t going to make them rush to prepare for another mouth to feed.

Keith knew fully well he didn’t belong here. He knew his place, and his place was out here, on the doorstep, watching from an arms reach away as he was drenched by the rain and the cold. 

“Well, you’d best get on home safe, then,” the father let out a tired smile. “Goodbye, now…”

“Keith.”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

And with that, he shut the door, shutting out the warmth and leaving Keith to the cold, dark streets.

Keith walked home alone, to an empty apartment and a note on the fridge saying Shiro and Adam would be back tomorrow morning to help Cosmo settle into the apartment.

-

It had been a couple of days since then. Lance hadn’t been at the shelter when he’d arrived to collect Cosmo - even though he said he would be. When Keith asked Allura where he was, she avoided the question.

Ryan, unknowing of Keith’s issues last night, had brought up to a customer that he had a tattoo of a blade on his forearm. Naturally, the customer asked to see, especially as they’d wanted to book shiro for a similar tattoo. James had dropped his bubble-tea at the sight of the heavily bandaged wrist.

“Crap, what did you do to your arm, dude? I hope you haven’t ruined any tattoos,” the guy - Rolo, it said on his McDonalds polo that reeked of grease - whistled.

"Dog bit it,” Keith shrugged. “He’s knew. Still getting used to things.” He ignored Ryan rushing off and fretting to James about how clumsy he was, trying to clean everything up. Keith was just glad that James was rid of the stupid drink. He’d gotten it as he was apparently bored of coffee and spent the past hour shooting the small tapioca pearls out of the straw, aiming for Keith the entire time.

“Ouch. My dog at home used to be antsy, too. They soften up after a while,” Rolo shrugged, and that seemed to be the end of it. He marvelled over the tattoo, and said he’d email Shiro in the week.

Once he’d left, James immediately grabbed Keith by the shoulder. “Can we talk? Out back?”

“I’m busy. Later?” Keith tried to search for something to do.

“Can’t wait - you’re more important.” James dragged Keith off without another word. He sat Keith down, glaring at him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You _know_ what.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“Please. Just drop it. And don’t tell Shiro.”

“When are you next in therapy?” 

“Tomorrow.” A lie. He had the appointment cancelled. Word would definitely get back to Adam, but he wanted a day to himself, so he didn’t care for the repercussions when news finally reached Shiro.

“Well, next time you actually see her, tell her about it if you can’t tell us. Please, Keith.”

-

Apparently, his pathetic bout of self-pity yesterday had gotten around (and really, from James, he shouldn’t expect anything less). For the first time in weeks, Pidge had text him for something that _wasn’t_ tattoo or Lance-related, asking if they could meet up there.

“Ask someone who actually _likes_ that shitty place,” Keith had muttered from under his burrow of blankets. It was six in the evening, his room bathed in red from the sunset outside. Shiro and Adam would be home soon. They would realise he spent the entire day in bed, in his clothes from yesterday. He made a mental note to try and send Ina a text later to say thank you for covering his shift.

If that didn’t work out, he at least shared a shift with her Thursday where he could thank her in person.

“I know.” Pidge muttered back into the phone, the soft clicking of her laptop keys crackling through the speaker. Keith was always in awe at how good she was at multitasking. She was probably hacking some sort of important site at the moment like a breeze.

Keith wished he was smart enough to sit in bed all day and have companies pay him to hack into their websites.

“I’ll be round yours tomorrow. Nine AM. Make sure you’re not doing anything dirty.”

Keith choked. “Nine AM?!”

“Uh, yeah. We’re getting breakfast, duh.”

-

The musky smell of beer was permitting the air. The old, rustic pub appeared to be falling apart from the inside. Every time Keith lifted his glass of orange juice from the table his glass made a horrible squelch and he wondered when the tables were last given a wipe. 

Keith hated these kinds of pubs - the ones that were owned by a chain. Sure, the food was ridiculously cheap - who in their right mind would turn down a large cooked breakfast and a cup of coffee for a fiver? But he hated how grimy and sticky everything was.. Hated that there were still men demanding alcohol at the bar, despite it only being 9AM.

Pidge liked it, though. Especially as there were free-refills on the coffee. There were plenty of times that he’d ring her up and find that she’d spent the whole day there, wired up on coffee and stealing their wifi to do her work. 

Pidge spooned large mouthfuls of pancakes and bacon into her mouth as though someone was going to steal her food away from her any minute. She’d asked for an extra bowl of syrup, _and_ had stolen Keith’s. Keith wasn’t too sure how she had any teeth _left_ with her sugar intake. 

“So how’s your dog? Shiro finally warming up to him?” She asked, though it was barely comprehensible from all the food stuffed in her cheeks, making her look like a hamster.

“Yeah,” Keith sipped at the watered-down orange juice. “He pretends he hates him, but he’s always the one to offer to take him for a walk in the morning.”

Pidge hummed, eyes flickering over his baggy hoodie sleeves. “I see. He’s so cute - we gotta take him for a walk again. Oh, speaking of cuties, how is Lance?”

“I don’t know,” Keith tried not to give her the blushing reaction that she wanted. “He’s _your_ friend.”

“Hey, don’t pull that line on me again.” She pointed a fork at him, flicking syrup across the table. “How is he?”

“Well, he did turn up to the shop a few days ago,” Keith rubbed his arm, leaning back into the booth. A sudden yell came from the bar, men with football t-shirts clapping each other on the back. Pidge ignored them, leaning forward.

“Yeah, go on.”

“He was soaked - he really wasn’t in a good place? He was shaking and asked me to walk home with him?” Keith frowned at the memory. “I don’t…it was so weird. I’ve never seen him so…paranoid. And to make it weirder, our dickhead customer came in five minutes before close asking if we’d seen anyone walk by - he was acting really strange too.” Keith shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m thinking too much into it but…maybe they’re connected?” 

Pidge frowned, was silent for a long moment. “Is that man Lotor?” 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Her eyes widened for a brief second, before she schooled her expression, and winked at Keith. “So, you walked the guy home - what a gentleman you are, Keith. You sure you’re not dating him?”

Keith spluttered. “I- no!” He shook his head. “Do you know what-“

“Hunk and Lance are joining us in like, five minutes, by the way.”

All previous subjects were forgotten. “What?!” He looked a wreck - he didn’t even brush his hair this morning! Not to mention he was wearing the jeans he’d spilt ink over at work yesterday. The pale blue was blotched with reds and greens - he looked like he’d walked out of a damn paintball fight. He’d had a cigarette on the walk down this morning because it was fucking _freezing_ so he was sure he didn’t smell exactly like roses, either.

“Heh, what, you gotta prepare yourself for Lance?” Pidge leant her chin on her hand, enjoying Keith’s despair, the demon. “I thought he was just a customer.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah, I’ll save that for you and Lance.”

Keith very nearly strangled her. Nearly. Except, Lance and Hunk were already walking through the door and approaching them both. Lance slid in next to Keith, while Hunk shuffled in next to Pidge. 

Keith could punch Pidge for the smug smirk she shot his way. 

Hunk gave Keith a friendly smile and Keith wondered how Pidge and him both knew each other. She’d never mentioned his name before, but then again, she’d never mentioned Lance’s to him before the day he’d come to get his first tattoo, either. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Keith!” Hunk greeted, and Keith was glad he was trapped in the booth as he was sure Hunk was seconds away from lifting him up and tugging him into an all-constricting bear hug. 

“Likewise,” Keith forced a smile, watching him slump down next to Pidge. 

“So, have you made any robots in class, yet?” Pidge asked Hunk, nudging him. 

“I specialise in cars, Pidge.”

“That’s a very disappointing no, then,” Pidge sighed. “Keith said he missed you, Lance.”

Keith choked on his juice. “I didn’t - fuck you, Pidge.”

Lance laughed, tugging his wallet from his rucksack. “What can I say, everyone loves me?” He gets to his feet. “Hunk, you want anything?”

“The usual,” Hunk fist bumped Lance as he passed to move up to the bar. “Thank you!” He called as Lance walked away.

As he left the table, the sun drew behind the clouds, and the table shrouded in darkness. Pidge leant over to Hunk.

“Keith said Lance needed walking home from work on Monday,” she mumbled. Hunk drew in closer, and they both began mumbling to each other, as though Keith wasn’t there. Keith tried to stain to listen, but they were mumbling so quietly and quickly, he could only catch a couple of words and phrases - ‘Lotor’ and ‘keep an eye on him’.

Eventually, they leaned back, and Pidge scrolled through her phone. “Oh yeah, you can’t work on the 13th.”

“So now I’m suddenly a part of the table?” Keith jabbed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yep. Now, did you hear me over your whining? You can’t work on the thirteenth. You _can’t_.”

“Why the fuck not?” Keith folded his arms. “I can work whenever I want.”

“Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist,” Pidge waved a hand at him. “We’re taking you and Lance to a concert. Marmora are playing at the olkarion. Hunk and I have got four tickets - us two ,and you and Lance.”

“You _hate_ Marmora?” Keith frowned. 

“Dude, are you going to take the _free_ fucking tickets or what?”

Free? Pidge never did things for free. But maybe word really _had_ gotten from James to her about…everything. Maybe Colleen had mentioned it. 

Fuck, people were really starting to pity him. 

“Thanks.” 

Pidge smiled as Lance came back, lifting up her fist with a loud ‘whoop’ that rivalled the cheers from the football fans at the bar. 

“He’s coming, Lance! That’s another ticked off your list!”

Lance didn’t look too happy at all, merely giving Pidge a glare and jerking his head to Keith with a shake of his head. 

Pidge merely laughed and gave Hunk a sly look. Hunk shook his head and looked anywhere but the other three sitting with him on the table.

-

It turned out, and Keith should have _really_ expected such a stunt to be pulled - that Pidge and Hunk both cancelled a couple of days before the show, leaving both Lance and Keith to go alone. 

Though, when Keith was mentioning it to James, who was also a big fan of Marmora, he had almost ruined the tattoo he was giving Ryan out of his excitement. 

Five minutes later, he’d ordered him and Ryan tickets, and they’d made plans to meet at the station. Keith offered to walk down to Lance’s and walk to the station with him, but he said his brother was going to give him a lift. As though entering a ‘best big brother competition’ shiro insisted on giving him a lift to the station as well, as though he was still a teenager who couldn’t look after himself. 

-

They bustled onto the train leading towards the next city, the train already stuffy and smelling faintly of sweat. Keith grimaced and slumped into one of the electric-blue seats, feeling the cold chill radiating from the grimy window. 

James slid easily in next to Keith, radiating a similar chill as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Lance shuffled awkwardly further towards his corner opposite Keith when Ryan was forced to take a seat next to him. 

"So, isn’t this like old times?” James chuckled. It’s been ages since we’ve gone to a gig. Ryan’s being all grumpy because he doesn’t like punk but - hey, Lance, you like punk?”

Keith could already smell the whiskey on James’s breath and huffed. Ryan and him must’ve gotten into an argument before they’d left, again. 

“Yeah, I do,” Lance nodded. “But probably not as heavy as you like-“

“Hah, nothing is as bad as the crap Keith likes.” James nudged Keith. “Remember Wargasm? Fuck, did you have the hots for that drummer.” It seemed James had drunk enough for his brain-to-mouth filter to not work effectively. “You seen these guys live, Lance? They’re insane.”

“Actually, I’ve never been to a concert, before.”

There was a brief silence. James looked as though Lance had suddenly morphed into his favourite singer.

“I witnessed you lose your tattoo and piercing virginity, and now your concert virginity too?!” James bounced up and down in his seat in excitement. “Holy shit, Lance. “You’re the best.”

-

James whittled on to Keith about the band they were seeing - how their recent album compared to the others they’d released. Keith merely nodded along and batted his own opinion back, though he was mainly impartial to the whole ordeal. He felt sorry for Ryan and Lance, who here sitting awkwardly silent, listening to James ramble. James was so clearly trying to get Ryan to feel awkward, unintentionally making Lance feel the same. 

In order to ease the tension a little, Keith flashed Lance a small smile when James finally stopped talking. “You okay?” He asked. Lance nodded. 

“Where’s the venue?” 

“Camden - it’s just a small basement venue in the back of a pub, there won’t be hardly anyone there. It’s not too far on the tube, either.”

Lance nodded. “I’ve never been to Camden before. I’d better stick close to you guys, I guess.”

“You’ve never-“ James’s jaw dropped. “Where have you _been_ your whole life, Lance?!”

Lance chuckled nervously. “Uh…”

“Not everyone’s an emo like you and Keith. You treat that shit-hole like it’s a church,” Ryan huffed and folded his arms, though there was a small, fond smile twitching at his lips. 

James took the attempt at a joke as an insult, clearly still strung up on whatever argument they’d had. His fist clenched and brow furrowed, mouth opening and ready to snap back when -

The overhead voice saved Keith from whatever war was just about to take place, and whatever remark James had burning on his tongue. As soon as she announced their stop, Keith was grabbing Lance and dragging them over the dysfunctional couple. 

“C’mon, time to get off.”

-

A greasy, too-cheap burger and watery soda later ad they were all rushing into the underground station. Keith kept a tight hold on Lance’s jacket sleeve as they worked their way through the crowd, James leading the way. He wasn’t holding Ryan’s arm, simply letting the man hold onto his bag like a lifeline as they navigated their way through the crowds. Keith and James both knew the way off-by-heart, for sure, but Lance and Ryan were clearly both out of their depth. 

“I hate this fucking city, Keith muttered under his breath as he was almost tripped up by the wheels of a stupid suitcase. 

-

The tube journey was stuffy. Ryan had tried to stop falling when someone had shoved in to him to exit the train, and James had snapped at him not to touch him. Keith was claustrophobic as it was, without having to be pressed between the seething couple. Lance was the only thing keeping him from snapping - whether that be to a hyperventilating mess in the middle of the platform, or pushing both James and Ryan off the damn train, he didn’t know - always giving his hand a quick squeeze and flashing him a small, excited smile, reminding Keith of exactly why he was here. 

Eventually, _thank god,_ they’d surfaced from the tunnels of hell, the cold night breeze brushing their cheeks as they stepped out the station. Keith sighed in relief.

They rushed through the darkened streets, past gaggles of people. James took the lead again, either because he was the only one who knew the venues location, or because he wanted to steer clear of Ryan. Keith was pretty sure it was both.

He lead the way with sparks lighting up a path behind him from his lit cigarette, enough for them to smell the bitter reek of tobacco for the entire journey. He was far enough in front to give Ryan a raised brow, wanting to know what was up with his friend. 

“Look,” Ryan hissed, drawing closer. “No matter how much I apologise, each time I try, he gets angrier with me-“ he looked wearily to Lance, who got the point, and rushed up to walk with James. Keith and Ryan in turn slowed down and hung back a little.

“But you’re still not over your ex,” Keith cut through. “Sorry, Ryan, but I don’t think he’s ever gonna be okay until you get over the bastard or you accept you still have feelings for him and stop stringing James along. It depends on who you love more. You’ve just gotta choose. The longer you take, the more you’re hurting him.”

There was a long silence. Lance must’ve said something funny, because James burst into a fit of chaotic laughter. Lance followed behind, their voices echoing through the empty street. 

“James,” Ryan rasped, watching James almost stumble into the road when Lance shoved him, the two bursting into another fit of laughter. “It’s always been James.”

Keith placed a steady hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Then _tell_ him.”

Ryan opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey! Hurry up! We’ll be late!” Lance called, him and James mere silhouettes against the striking neon lights of the high street, frantically waving at the two.

Ryan rushed forward without so much as a word. Keith hung back for a second more, hesitating, before rushing to catch up with them. 

-

Inside, the venue was _tiny_. Loud alternative music clashed with the consistent buzz of chatter and the bass drum coming from downstairs. Heavy industrial lights hung from the ceiling and bathed the room in a low, ambient light. There was a single, empty booth in the corner, and three long tables in the centre of the pub. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and even though Keith knew he was being completely ridiculous, he could have sworn everyone stopped to quickly glance at them as they entered.

James had tried his best to convince them all to stand at the front, but Keith had managed to reign him in, and they instead stuck a few rows back. Keith didn’t find any fun in being shoved against the stage or slapped in the face by a stray microphone lead, unlike James, who claimed any gig _sucked_ unless he was shoved into the beer-soaked floor or punched in the face by a fellow drunken lunatic in the crowd. 

Needless to say, as James started his third double JD and coke for the evening (and who knew what he’d drunk before that at home), Keith knew they’d lose him the moment the first band stepped on that stage. 

He spotted two girls standing at the front, centre stage. It’s an 18+ venue, and Keith wondered if they’d forged an ID; they barely looked old enough to be there, their small frames engulfed by the crowd around them. Keith watched them chatter and laugh. He wondered if he’d have experienced the same, maybe with Shiro if he’d been able to stay with the Shirogane’s, instead of being forced back into the system after the death of Shiro’s father. 

Instead, like Lance, his first concert experience had been different to most. James had dragged him after the shift - apparently one of his friends had dropped out and wanted to get ‘shitfaced’ and couldn’t do that safely on his own.

vThere was nothing safe about it, with someone or not, but Keith agreed because all he’d been doing is locking himself in his room, staring at his ceiling and driving himself to insanity at the time.

James and Keith were already seeing each other at the time, so Keith guessed he was the logical option. They hadn’t ever made it official - they were both far too fucked up at the time to make any sort of promise or commitment to each other. Keith wouldn’t say friends with benefits, because it wasn’t _all_ about the sex - sex was barely a part of it, but he wouldn’t _not_ use that term, either.

The beer was bitter and heavy on Keith’s tongue, and the loud, throbbing music seemed to kick at his brain with every pulsed beat. He began to wonder if it was the best decision to accept James’s invite to come and see a band, when he’d much rather be at home, working on Shiro’s next tattoos with Cosmo most likely curled in his lap.

It was too late. He was here now. The lights fell and music grew quieter. The crowd began to cheer and Keith heard Lance cheer too. He turned, just as the lights came up, the blue glow drawing out his eyes that shone and glistened like the head of the singers microphone under the blue spotlight. They were wide with such wonder and amazement, such awe that Keith found himself back with his father, when he’d first seen the stars. Keith, only a toddler at the time, smothered by his overly large red rain coat and hippo-print umbrella had gotten his directions muddled and looked down (instead of up like his father had told him) at a puddle on the street, looking at his own awe-stricken face gazing back at him, framed by the twinkling galaxies above.

And should Keith have been able to see his own reflection again, he may have seen how he mirrored that very same expression when looking at the smiling boy before him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: wargasm are a real band. I think the guitarist (?) of a band I liked started it?? I'm not too sure. I just know I cry every time I see the name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their fingers lingered close together, Lance hesitating, watching Keith with wide, doe-like eyes.
> 
> Keith shook his head, took a step away, out of the spotlight. The car engine still rumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh hi
> 
> I'm sorry it's taken so long to update this fic!!! While I was starting off writing it, I had a shit ton of assessments for uni (way, way back in autumn/winter time) and I was also ill for a lot of the time - thus leading to me not writing any of this fic at all, and ending up losing track of it a little? And just losing confidence in it entirely. 
> 
> But, good news for you guys - I found the draft for this next chapter and gave it a read through, and remembered why I loved this fic so much!! So I finished the chapter! Yay! 
> 
> I'm not too sure how often this will be updated, but I promise you I haven't lost my love for this fic, I will still continue with it! Even if I do have another fic in the works at the moment. (Which you should totally check out if you haven't already...)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I introduce Krolia into this chapter - just wanted to note that Keith and Krolia aren't related in this au :) 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! I appreciate it! I hope quarantines and lockdowns aren't driving anyone too crazy, and that you're all healthy wherever you are! <3

The yellowed, artificial lights flickered above their heads. Outside, neon lights flashed by, striking across Lance's face as he leant against the window. His breath steamed up the cold, grubby glass. He clutched Keith's jacket tightly around his shoulders - on the walk back to the train from the venue, Keith had noticed him shivering and without a word had slung his jacket over Lance.

Keith shivered violently from his seat next to Lance, having only worn a thin t-shirt underneath, but there was no way he was going to ask for it back. 

They weren't able to get four seats together this time. To the left of them, Ryan had an arm slung around James, who was curled into his side and idly tracing the lines of tattoo work on Ryan's arm. Keith wasn't sure when they'd made up, only that half way during the show, they'd disappeared into the crowd. He'd heard that much - James hissing at him to let go while Ryan tried to convince him to go out back for a talk.

He and Lance had found them outside after the show talking over cigarettes with hushed voices. 

He was sure James would tell him _all_ the details after four shots of coffee at work tomorrow morning. If he was able to function.

He looked back to Lance, who looked two minutes away from falling asleep. He lazily thumbed out a text to someone, before lifting his head to look up at Keith with a sleepy smile. 

"Thank you for putting up with me, tonight."

Keith chuckled. "I think I should be thanking you for being able to put up with those two dumbasses."

Lance laughed. The train announced their stop. On Keith's way past, he nudged the sleepy couple next to them.

Outside the station, they part ways, in the near abandoned station car park. There was a car in the corner, headlights dipped, engine rumbling low. The car hooted as soon as they left the station. Lance had sent the car a glare, before joining Keith in waving off Ryan and James, leaving them both alone in the car park. 

Keith watched Lance's face as he waved. it was tired and much paler than it had been when they'd first met up to walk down to the station. In the soft glow of the lamplight hanging above them, his features seemed to glow. The soft, supple lines of his lips were curved into a smile. The moonlight always made Lance's skin glow so naturally, the glint to his eyes just so perfect, as though the night was just amde to accentuate Lance's beauty. 

And Keith? Keith felt so _underwhelming_ in comparison.

Still, Keith wanted him. He wanted to be the cause of his smiles and his laughter. He wanted to be able to pull him close, under the spotlight of the streetlamp. He wanted to kiss him until those pale cheeks were flushed pink, his breath heavy, with only the stars and the moon above to witness it. He wanted to hold him close and never let go, because _Lance_ was warmth. He made smiling, laughter, _happiness_, seem like second-nature, not something that Keith had to force, to fake and hope that someday it would become real. 

Because the happiness he felt right now, with Lance by his side, was _real_. And he didn't want to let it go.

He lifted a hand, brushed a strand of hair from lance's cold cheek. He was tempted to let his hand cradle the back of Lance's neck, to get up onto his tiptoes and _kiss him_, because it would be romantic, it would be beautiful and Lance would-

Lance would end up drowning in the same sea that Keith found himself forever caught in. He'd sink below the surface and be pulled down to its cold depths alongside Keith, forced to live through the same pains as he was. It had happened to James, who had spent so long trying to _fix,_ trying to _heal_, that he didn't realise he was sinking too. 

Keith didn't want that to happen again. And so, instead of pulling Lance closer, closer to the edge, to the ocean that Keith had been swept under, Keith pulled away.

Their fingers lingered close together, Lance hesitating, watching Keith with wide, doe-like eyes. 

Keith shook his head, took a step away, out of the spotlight. The car engine still rumbled.

"I'll see you around," Keith mumbled. 

"Text me when you get home." Lance's smile dropped a little, like the first hairline-crack in a glass. 

Keith's own cracked mind seemed to loose a few shards. 

"I will." He turned on his heel and walked into the darkness of the night, feeling his chest grow colder the more he stepped away.

Then, he heard footsteps. Pattering like the first early droplets of rain before a storm. 

Arms threw themselves around him. Keith felt warmth flare through him. His cheeks reddened as flames licked around him. 

"Thank you, Keith."

And Keith may have indulged himself a little, just for a while, turning around and wrapping his arms around Lance. He held him tightly, closely, dreading the moment that Lance pulled away and went back home. 

-

Keith sipped at the small carton cup of watered down hot-chocolate, uncaring that the liquid scalded his tongue and made his mouth ache. His hands were shuddering and shaking and his eyes stung no matter whether he kept them closed or open. He kept his knees drawn to his chest, ignoring the glances from passing nurses and visitors. 

A weight dipped the bench of the chairs down a little, and a hand found its way onto Keith's knee. He lifted his head, peeking through his hood to see Adam, who gave him a small, sympathetic smile. 

He tried his best to hide the sympathy, knowing from past experience that Keith didn't appreciate it. Keith had known Adam for a while now, though, and could tell from the way his brow dipped that he was looking at Keith with pity. 

"Rough session?" He asked. 

It was an understatement. Colleen was trying to dip into Keith's few years of homelessness - a subject that she'd never

quite been able to get out of him in detail, only a few brief comments on the cold, how that was the tipping point leading to his first suicide attempt.

He’d wanted to get it out. He was having a good day, after all. James had gotten his phoenix tattoo and Keith was proud of how it came out, and so was Shiro. Even Iverson showed his approval with a small nod of his head - though he soon ruined it by telling James he shouldn’t expect a discount just because he’s a staff member.

He’d been on a nice walk with Cosmo that morning. He’d seen Lance taking a walk with Hunk - presumably to the coffee shop. Lance had ran across the road to hug him. Everything had just felt…better.

So Keith thought it was a good time. He thought he could handle it. But that had lead to having a panic attack halfway through the story and vomiting in Colleen’s paper-bin. She’d ended the session immediately after and called Shiro to say that Keith would need a lift home, then left him in the waiting area where the receptionists were to keep a close eye on him.

“Keith? Hey, anyone in there?” Adam waved in front of Keith’s face. Keith blind and looked back up to him. He smiled. “There we go. I’ve finished my shift - gonna take you home. Shiro said he’s going to order us some pizza for a movie night. Sound good?” 

Keith just wanted to sleep the rest of the day away and forget everything that had ever happened, but he knew that Shiro and Adam were trying their best and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. So, he nodded and tried to force a smile. 

Adam frowned. It didn’t look like it turned out as well as Keith hoped.

Keith eased up onto his feet and shuffled through the hospital halls. They barely met anyone along the way - the good thing about the psychology department was that it was the farthest away from the busier departments, in an attempt to make the patients feel more comfortable and less distracted by…outside noise. If they really wanted Keith to feel more comfortable, they should do away with the blinding lights and the nauseating smell of antiseptic before anything else. 

He wondered idly what it would be like if he wasn’t _here._ Here being in the ward. If he was normal and do simple tasks like get out of bed in the morning and find the energy to actually look after himself. If he didn’t spend every waking hour scrutinising his own actions and decisions. If he actually found a _reason_ to live. To stay here and suffer the absurdity of the world. 

Something collided into him with a small ‘oof!’

Adam turned on his heels in a shot, before letting out a sigh. 

“Lance, you’re not meant to be out of-“

“Keith?!” Keith could barely get a look at the tall figure standing in front of him before he was very quickly constricted by two long arms. “What are you doing here?!” 

He recognised the voice from anywhere, though. 

“Hey, Lance. Could say the same for you?” Keith frowned, pulling Lance at arms length, holding onto his shoulders. 

Lance looked tired, his eyes rimmed red, cheeks rubbed raw. There was a stray fragment of tissue on his hoodie, a damp patch on his shoulder. His hair looked thinner. _He_ looked thinner. 

Keith had only seen him this morning - be it a fleeting glance. Why…how did he looks so-

“Lance, what are you _doing_ here? You should be with Dr. Holt discussing-“ 

“Adam?” Lance cut through all too quickly, eyes going wide with…fear? His hands clutched tightly onto Keith’s arms. They trembled as he looked between them both. “Uh, would you look at that, I think I’ve gotta go-“ Just as quickly as Lance arrived, he disappeared down the hall. Keith blinked, arms still stretched out, wondering if Lance had even been there at all. 

Because surely he would have no _reason_ to be here, right?

Adam cleared his throat, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder, grounding him, sending his mind back to _here_ and _now._

“Come on, or else Shiro’s gonna eat all the pizza. Or set fire to the apartment. Or both.”

The car journey back was awkward. It always was, with Adam. For start, Adam couldn’t drive, hence why Shiro offered to drive him when he could. He’d speed and turn corners too quickly, he’d not look nor indicate. Keith always found his jaw aching after a journey with Adam as the driver, nerves strung so high he’d be clenching his teeth too hard during the entire trip.

“I didn’t know you knew Lance,” Adam muttered, pulling the steering wheel so quickly they skidded with a loud _skreech!_ Keith’s fists clenched on his seatbelt, wishing that Shiro was here right now to take over. 

“Uh, yeah,” Keith muttered, “I apparently talk to him so much Shiro wants to puke rainbows?” 

Adam stopped too quickly at the lights. They both lurched forward. “O-oh. He’s _that_ Lance?” 

“What other Lance is there?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“N-Nothing. It’s nothing-“ Adam muttered, though Keith was no longer sure he was talking about the same thing as Keith. 

“I wonder why he was at the hospital,” Keith voiced aloud, if just to catch Adam’s reaction. Adam doesn’t say a word, hands clenching on the steering wheel. 

They get back to the apartment alive. Keith eats little but he gets a pass from Shiro because he _did_ puke not two hours ago. Not long after the film finishes he checked back into his room, Cosmo following his heels. 

That’s when he hears it. 

He can barely make out the words at first, but from the hushed voices, the harsh, hissed out tones, he could tell Shiro and Adam were arguing. It happened often, though nothing too serious. Shiro would get the wrong brand of milk at the store and suddenly Shiro never helped out around the house and Adam was a drama queen for always making everything seem like the end of the world. They’d last two minutes before caving and apologising. Then Keith would leave the house for a couple of hours.

This time, though, it didn’t sound nearly as…melodramatic. There was a weight to their words. 

“We’ve got to tell him, Adam!” Keith manages to make out. Then: “It’s not our place to say anything, Takashi! You could get me _fired_!”

That’s all Keith heard. There was silence. No kissing, no hugs, no soft apologies. Just deathly silence.

Keith lay there, letting it weigh down on him. Growing heavier, heavier, well past the moment that he fell asleep.

-

There were moments where Keith found he needed to talk to someone outside of his bubble. Not Pidge, Colleen, not Shiro or Adam, not even James. He couldn’t even talk to Lance, because, well…that was the problem. 

Shiro and Adam had been acting strange. Distant. Shiro would give Adam glares whenever Keith walked in the room - _especially_, he realised, when he mentioned going out to see Lance. He’d act extra soft and sweet with Keith, like someone would just before they broke some kind of catastrophic news to them. Like his foster parents would just before they broke it to him that they would not be keeping him for any longer - that he’d be moved to the next home. 

So, he found himself in the shadier part of London. The streets were ramshackled and groups of men with cigarettes and dark clothes would cluster on street corners. Graffiti would smother rubbled buildings and parked cars with smashed windows. Keith would keep his pocketknife clutched tightly in his hand and walk fast with his head dropped low. 

The Blade of Marmora was a bar that was situated in this area, hidden in a backstreet behind a closed-down bank. Despite it’s location, it was in pretty good condition. Sure, it had it’s reputation of fights and shadier customers, but Keith thought it a home just as much as Shiro’s apartment. 

Kolivan was the owner, though Keith hadn’t _too_ much to do with him. He knew Keith and allowed him inside when he was underage, had even offered him a job as soon as he turned eighteen (though it was too late - he already was working at the parlour at the time). Keith had started visiting there during his homelessness, and it was the only part of that time that he could remember without a crushing rendition of the fear and hunger he’d felt at the time. 

It hadn’t changed in all the time he’d been visiting. It still had its black walls and low, ambient purple lights. There was a flame-like neon symbol glowing behind the bar, lighting up the various spirit bottles and glasses displayed behind it. There was a small stage in the corner, bare, the large speakers settled on it blaring out metal music. 

Red velvet booths lined the corners and tall, mahogany tables and stools dotted the small room. Behind the bar, stood a woman idly wiping the taps, humming along to the music. 

Keith noticed a couple in the corner drinking, talking quietly to one another, but that was all. He quickly shuffled up onto one of the stools by the bar, flashing the woman a smile. 

“Keith!” Her face broke into a large smile. She slammed the cloth down onto and jumped _over _the bar to scoop Keith up into a suffocating hug. “I haven’t seen you for _ages._ How are you? Tattoo shop still holding up? Oh, has Shiro put a ring on his fella yet? Have you _grown_ again? Wow, when you first walked into this bar you could hardly see over-“

“Krolia,” Keith laughed, pushing her away and stopping her from rambling. “In order to answer your questions I actually have to get a chance to _speak_.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ve just missed you!” She leaps back behind the counter. “What can I get you, first? Have it on the house, I’ll put it on my tab.”

“The tab you never pay?” Keith chuckled. 

Krolia put a finger to her lips to shush him. Keith ordered his drink and she got to making it, humming the whole time. 

Keith would have liked to have met Krolia when he was still in care. With her purple and red spiked hair, her long hippy skirts and black leather jackets. A clash of punk and florals, pierced lips and neck tattoos. How she either sat and read classing gothic novels on her breaks or drank and gambled and banged the _shit_ out of the house drum kit. She was a paradox. She was an enigma. 

She was like a mother to Keith.

She was the one on duty when Keith first stumbled into the place, shivering and needing somewhere to sit for a while because he was certain if he spent any longer out in the cold he’d be dead come morning. She’d not only bring him out food and serve him drinks and ‘put it on her tab’, or on a tab for him that he found disappeared by the end of the night, but she’d also _talk _to him. She’d hear him out, she’d lend an ear, without asking for much in return. She wouldn’t drown him in advice or comforts that meant absolutely _nothing_. She’d throw in a comment occasionally like: ‘wow, that’s pretty shit,’ or, ‘fucking hell’, and that would be all. 

She’d show no pity, but no judgement. When Keith had asked her if she pitied him, she’d simply said: “Keith, if I pitied everyone that walked into this bar, I’d have to quit my job.”

She would laugh with Keith, and when he eventually grew to trust her, she eventually started to dish out the occasional advice. She’d give Keith a pen and her notepad for orders to draw on, she’d wrap him up in her dark, tasseled cardigans that reeked of cigarettes when he grew cold. She’d offer him her cigarettes, sometimes they smoked together. They certainly drank together. 

Keith could almost see her being a mother. Or, maybe an aunt. 

“So, tell me _everything,_” She said, resting the glass on the counter. 

Keith began filling in the gaps between now and their last encounter. Of Shiro proposing to Adam, of Cosmo, and Lance. 

“Lance, huh?” She smiled dopily, draping herself over the counter, taking a sip from Keith’s pint, leaving a plum-coloured lipstick stain behind. “Sounds like a cute boy. I bet you haven’t asked him out yet.”

“No,” Keith shook his head. 

“You should,” she says, straightening up as the kitchen door opened and their chef, Sal, bumbled over. He placed a bowl of fries in front of Keith, grumbling under his breath about ‘freeloaders’ before returning to his greasy abode in the kitchen. 

“I shouldn’t.” Keith refused. “He’s just too…”

“Too perfect?” Krolia faked a gag. “Come _on, _Keith. I thought you didn’t like people thinking your life was a sob story? Get out there and _ask him. _Even if he isn’t into you, so what? Move onto the next guy.”

“You don’t get it-“

“I do,” Krolia smiled. “I know it’s a big blow if he says no but will you really be any worse off? Wouldn’t you rather know than wasting your time pining over someone that doesn’t like you back?”

Krolia may have a knack to making the most complicated things sound so _simple_, but she also had a point.

“But how?”

“Hey, Lance, wanna go on a date with me to this super cool bar some time? The barmaid is the most beautiful, amazing, coolest woman to ever exist in the whole history of the-“

“I get it.” Keith huffed, though laughed at her antics. “Fine. I’ll try. Are you happy?”  
Krolia simply shrugged, “are _you_?”

Keith shrugged back, gazing back down to his drink. “I mean…There is something else.”

“Something else?”

“I saw Lance at the hospital after therapy the other day. Adam knew who he was but he seemed so _weird_ about it. Him and Shiro are arguing all of a sudden nd not talking and I just…don’t know what’s going on?”

Krolia pursed her lips, turning around with a swish of florals and grabbing the vodka bottle settled on the side. She poured Keith another double, and one for herself, before draping over the bar. 

“What do _you_ think you need to do?”

Keith frowned. “What are you? My therapist?”

Krolia sniggered. “Keith, just _talk to them._ Don’t internalise it! The worst they can do is not tell you. Again: will you be any worse off?”

“But what if it’s something I shouldn’t poke my nose into?” Keith frowned. “What if it’s just none of my business? Am I being too sensitive again? I think I’m being too sensitive. And too dramatic. I’m making something out of-“

“If it’s making you worried, you should totally try and find an answer,” Krolia rested her chin on her folded arms. “I mean, come on, Shiro’s your _brother._ If you can talk to anyone, you can talk to him. Maybe ask Lance when you ask him on a date, too.”

Keith sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk. You happy?”

“Yup,” she popped the ‘p’ and gave him a small smile. “Now, why haven’t you shown me a picture of this dog, yet? I _demand _to see photos!”

-

Keith was taking Cosmo for a walk in the park, the sun boring down onto the back of his neck. It was hot out today, and unbearably hard to try and keep the sleeves of his flannel down. He sighed, letting Cosmo off his leash and taking a seat on the bench, watching him run. 

“Oh, thank god! I bought two ice creams.” Someone slumped down next to him, thrusting a melting chocolate ice cream in front of his face. 

“Lance?” Keith turned, seeing Lance still watching the horizon. 

“Take it, already! My hands are gonna get sticky.”

Keith took it slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I was banned from this _public_ park.” Lance smirked. “I’m taking my nieces out for a walk. To get some fresh air. They’re on the play-park right now.”

“Oh.” Keith gave a nod. “Thanks for the ice cream?”

“It’s okay,” Lance smiled. “They had an offer - buy one get one free, but there was only three of us, and like hell I was gonna let them have two ice creams so, it worked out alright,” he shrugged. “How have you been? You haven’t answered _any_ of my text messages.”

“Work’s been awful,” Keith lied, running a hand through his hair. “Have you been okay?”

Lance hummed, not even bothering to nod. “I’m alive.”

“That doesn’t sound very positive-“ Keith muttered, only to be interrupted by two young girls bounding up to Lance, faces covered in remnants of strawberry ice cream. 

“Uncle Lance!” One shrieked. “Mummy said to remind you to take your medicine after you eat!”

Lance froze. “Uh, Nadia, that’s-“

“Please take it, Uncle Lance! We don’t want you to be in hospital again,” the boy pouted. 

“I’m gonna take it, now-Keith has a dog, somewhere. A husky! Go find him - he’s called Cosmo!”

“A PUPPY!?!” The two ran away as quickly as they’d appeared. Lance huffed, reaching into his rucksack. 

“Uh, Lance?”

“Keith?" Lance asked at the same time.

“Uh, you first,” Keith wimped out, shying away what he'd been rehearsing in his head for _days._

“What would you do if…” Lance paused for a second, stilling his shaking hands, before shaking his head. “Never mind. It was nice seeing you again. I’ll pop by the shop sometime. Gotta go-Nadia and Leo have homework. Bye!” He quickly rushed away. 

“Wait! Lance!” Lance froze, slowly turning. He looked terrified. Keith ran a hand through his hair. 

“Do you maybe, uh, want to go out sometime?”

The corner of Lance’s mouth tilted up slightly. “Like…a _date_?”

“Uh, if you, uh…yeah?” Keith hid his face in his hands. _Way to be confident, Keith._

Two hands gently held onto his wrists, prying them away from his face. Blue, sparkling eyes looked down into his, a beaming, yet tired smile set across his face. 

“I’d love that, Keith.” He laughed, giving Keith’s hands a squeeze, before rushing back off down the path. “Text me the details later! I’m looking forward to it!” He called over his shoulder, waving goodbye, before disappearing further into the park, leaving Keith to gape at where he’d once stood. 

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, at war with the smile tugging at his lips. 

_He said yes!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite boys go on a date! A DATE!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you're all okay during these strange times!! 
> 
> Just a quick heads up - after a lot of planning and revising, I'm tweaking the storyline just a little. It changes nothing that you have read so far, don't worry! But there will be a couple of new tags - not triggering, but they can be upsetting. If you need to take a peek, please do! They contain spoilers for the future, but I'd rather spoil something than upset someone. I'll also include relevant tags before each chapter, as always, so you can choose to wait for that instead, of course. :) 
> 
> My tumblr is always linked at the bottom if you want to ask a question, or want to just say hi - anon, or dm, or whatever!
> 
> TW: Mentions of self harm and cancer.

Keith was freaking out. 

“Do you think this’ll do?” He walked from his room into the lounge, where Shiro and Adam were curled up on the couch, flicking through daytime TV programmes and feeding each other whatever Adam had whipped up in the kitchen. Their heads snapped round to face Keith. 

There was a pause. 

Shiro hid his face into Adam’s shoulder, who quickly took a sip of his drink. “Uh,” Adam spoke into his mug. “You’re, uh…double denim? That’s a…bold choice.”

“Shit.” Keith ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have _time_ for this, I’m gonna be late!”

“Hey,” Shiro pushed Adam from his lap. “Take a deep breath, show me your wardrobe. The jeans are nice. How about that leather jacket you have, instead?”

Keith allowed himself to be dragged back to the other side of the apartment.

“Take that off and Stay there.” Shiro placed Keith in front of the mirror, before taking it upon himself to empty out Keith’s wardrobe. Keith threw his jacket onto the bed.

Keith glared at his reflection, arms folded tightly over his chest. He could tell Shiro was taking opportunities to slyly glance at his arms. 

“I’ve told Colleen about it,” Keith grumbled under his breath, lowering his head to look at the odd pair of socks on his feet - one covered in mermaid cats, the colours faded and loose threads hanging from them. It was a novelty present from James back when he’d started new medication - to cheer him up, apparently. 

Shiro gave a nod. Keith hugged himself tighter, watching Shiro tuck various clothes under his arms. 

“You don’t have to talk to me about it now.” Good, because Keith wasn’t planning on doing that, at _all._ “Tell me later. Right now, just focus on being happy about your date, okay? And try this on.”

Shiro tossed a chequered shirt over Keith’s head. Keith ripped it off and shrugged it on. Shiro then passed him his jacket. 

“There. Better. Or, as good as we’re gonna get anyway.” Shiro smiled and ruffled his head. “I’m joking. Run a comb through that and I think you’re ready.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but smiled a little. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Shiro smiled, hesitated at the door. “And Keith? Allow yourself to enjoy this. You deserve to be happy.”

Keith gave a nod, and both said nothing more on the matter.

-

The bus ride was uneventful. Keith could have taken the tube, but he needed the route that took a detour to the nicer part of town - the part where Lance lived. He’d managed to get a seat, and slung his bag over the one next to him so that Lance could take one. 

Finally, the bus reached Lance’s stop. Keith watched various people walk in and pay for their tickets, getting more anxious that Lance had decided (rightfully so) that Keith wasn’t worth it and not to turn up. 

His worries were eased when Lance stepped on last, flashing the driver a smile and even sparking up a small, quick conversation. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and his skin seemed ashen and his cheeks gaunt. 

Lance scanned his eyes over the bus for a second, before they landed on Keith, and he beamed so brightly Keith found the energy to smile back. 

“Hey!” Lance slumped down next to Keith, quickly searching his bag and muttering a list of items under his breath as he did so, before smiling and looking to Keith. “So, why are we going to Kensington?” He said the name in the poshest voice he could, a smile playing on his lips. 

“You’ll have to see,” Keith replied with a shrug.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Lance crossed his arms and pouted at Keith.

“Do you not know what a surprise is?” Keith asked, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Surprises are usually bad for me,” Lance muttered. Keith placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s a good one. I promise.” 

The bus soon gurgled to a stop. Keith mockingly gave Lance his arm as they stepped out. 

“Let me help you down the step, your highness.”

“Oh,” Lance laughed, quickly thanking the bus driver as he took Keith’s arm and stepped out. “What a gentleman.” He let Keith drag him through the streets, towards a large, iron gate entrance, leading into a garden-like place.

It was _huge_ \- bigger than what it looked like on the website when Keith had researched it online. With a small cafe building near the entrance, a large manor and fields for _miles_, one would think it was in the countryside rather than in the centre of a bustling city. 

Lance looked slightly confused, but intrigued, as Keith lead him down a pathway, trying to remember exactly where the map had instructed him to go. 

Eventually, he found it. The hedgerows cut into an archway. They stepped through to reveal a section of the garden speckled with hundreds of different colours - different flowers - _everywhere._ There was a small lake where ducks chattered, and a waterfall coming from a small ridge in a hill. Trees whispered and swayed with the crisp evening breeze and bees buzzed from flower to flower, forming little black floating silhouettes in the blazing orange of the sunset. 

“Keith…”

Keith gave Lance’s hand a small squeeze, leading him further inside. “Do you like it?”

“No, I hate it?” Lance shoved Keith playfully. “I have hay fever, didn’t you know that?” Lance pulled Keith into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

Keith allowed himself to be tugged around by Lance, who seemed to know all the flowers by name. “And this is a chrysanthemum, my mama used to grow those in her garden - oh, and those lilies look _just_ like the ones Papa bought on their anniversary and-“ 

And Keith was gone, Lance’s voice falling into static as he just watched, and smiled, and fell even deeper. 

Lance exhausted himself of talking, and so they sat by the stream, hot chocolates in hand from the cafe in an attempt to ward off the cold. 

Lance looked beautiful in the light from the flickering lamps. Skin golden, eyes sparkling, a contempt to his features - a peacefulness that was surprisingly new for Keith. 

Still, there were shadows cast onto his face. He had something. A secret. Or, maybe Keith was hoping that there was someone else out there, like him.

“Lance?”

Lance turned. Ethereal - the only word that could cross Keith’s mind. Cheeks blossomed pink from the cold, the steam from his drink billowing between them, radiating a warmth. 

Keith shuffled closer.

“What happened to your mom?”

Lance froze, and Keith immediately kicked himself for asking. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean - forget what I said.” 

“She died.” 

Somehow, Keith couldn’t find any sadness in those two words. No sadness from Lance, at least. 

“I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t be.” Lance plucked a daisy from the ground between them, stroking the petals, gently. “She wasn’t meant to live forever. She had cancer.”

Keith’s throat ached with how much it swelled. How much his stomach plummeted. 

“It’s okay.” Somehow, Lance was trying to comfort Keith. “She was in and out the hospital a lot when I was a kid. She was in a lot of pain. But she’s okay now. She’s not in pain anymore.”

Keith placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how to respond, other than yet another apology, which seemed useless - did _nothing_ to help. Lance gave Keith a small smile, leaning into his touch, pulling Keith’s arm around him and leaning into his side. 

“I’m sorry for killing the mood.”

“It’s my fault for asking.” Keith muttered. 

They sit in silence. Not awkward. Though Keith wouldn’t entirely say it was comfortable, either. Keith could feel heat seep into his body - feel his skin burning right where Lance was leant into his side, where his head settled into the crook of his neck, where his breath brushed his cheek. His mind reeled from the heat, from Lance, his mom, and-

“I know how you feel.” He said, quietly. 

Lance shuffled a little, hair tickling Keith’s chin, humming almost sleepily. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Lance whispered. “Just because I told you about mine.” A pause. “But if you want to. I’ll listen.”

Keith swallowed a lump in his throat. Only Colleen and Shiro knew. Probably Adam. Shiro told Adam everything - told Adam about things he’d promised not to tell. 

Keith pushed those thoughts away, tugging nervously at his sleeve. 

“I’m an orphan.” He choked the word out. Not because he was ashamed to say it. It was what it was. Keith had come to accept that. But…the memories it stirred. The aftermath. All because of that one label. That was what he struggled with. 

Lance only hummed. “What happened?”

“Mom left. My father died in a house fire - he was a firefighter.” 

“You had Shiro, right?”

“He’s not my brother. Not by blood. Almost legally.”

“Almost?” Lance shook a little with laughter. 

Keith tensed. “Shiro’s family fostered me. They were going to adopt me - had the papers and were going surprise me, but Shiro could never keep a secret…” Keith laughed a little too stiffly. “Then we got into a car accident. His father died. Shiro lost his arm. His mother couldn’t afford to keep me, not even to foster, so…I was passed on.”

Passed on to pain and arguments and screaming and-

“Hey,” Lance was in front of him. Cold hands placed themselves on Keith’s cheeks. They burned. “Now who’s bringing the mood down?” He tried to joke. 

“Sorry,” Keith didn’t take it. 

Lance frowned. “No, no. It’s okay.” His thumb ran along Keith’s cheekbone. Back and forth. Soothing. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He leant closer. Too close. 

And then they were together.

Chocolate and mint and something sweet Keith couldn’t place. Warmth and hands running up his shirt, only the thousands of stars above, the whispering trees and billowing wind baring witness as they kissed, and kissed, until the first few golden rays of sunlight began to appear over the horizon. 

“Oh.” Lance pulled away, lips pink and glossy and Keith had to dig his hands into the grass to stop himself from kissing them again. Lance’s phone was ringing. He answered, speaking in another language, firmly, almost snapping. He huffed, speaking quieter, more softly, before putting the phone down. 

“Sorry. Papa thought I died again.” 

Before Keith can say a word, Lance was sweeping him up to his feet. “I wish we could stay, but I think he’s going to kill you if you don’t get me home.”

They waited half an hour for the last bus running that night. Keith leant Lance his jacket when he started to shiver. Keith was freezing, too, but he could deal with the cold. Had done. Had suffered worse, for longer than this. 

It trundled up to their stop. They curled up at the back, passing an elderly woman who reeked of cigarettes and a couple of women, dressed up as zombies, heels held in their hands, too lost in their conversation to notice the world pass them by.

Keith leant into Lance’s side as Lance played with his hair, taking in the scent of his cologne and grass and just _Lance_. Taking deep breaths, and releasing, and feeling…_contempt._

He hadn’t felt that way for a while. He’d always felt too much. 

He watched the outside world flash by, hoping that every traffic light they reached would be red, just so he could spend a little longer like _this._

But, of course, eventually they trundled up to Lance’s stop. Lance leant over Keith to thumb at the button. A bell dinged. Distant.

“Thank you, Keith. This…this really meant a lot,” he smiled as the bus began to pull over. “Here,” he begins to take the jacket off, getting to his feet to go. 

“Keep it. Bring it into the shop tomorrow.”

“Uh,” Lance chewed his lip. “I won’t be able to bring it back next week. I’m not gonna be around. You should have it.”

“Why?”

Lance shook his head, forcing a smile. “Family stuff.”

He couldn’t meet Keith’s eye. The bus stopped.

“Keep it. I have another.”

“Thanks,” Lance smiled. “I’ll see you next week, then!”

“Yeah.” Keith was about to utter a goodbye, when Lance quickly leaned forward, chastely kissed him on the lips, ran a thumb over his lip afterward and gave him a soft smile. He turned, quickly running off the bus before the doors closed. 

When Keith came back into the flat, Shiro and Adam were there, waiting. Shiro was standing, pacing, phone clenched in his hand. 

“Keith!” Shiro ran to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I was worried. You didn’t answer my calls and it’s so late and-“

“Takashi,” Adam placed a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “He can look after himself. How’d the date go?” 

There was only one word to describe it. To describe Lance. Keith traced his own lips, where Lance had kissed him _more than once._

“It was perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the new playlist for this fic here!: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/54884f71wq41cyKkkg7Cwo?si=iQaDPzOGRRag6geTlnKHmQ
> 
> Come find me screaming at here: https://petalsandpurity.tumblr.com/


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